


Faith Unshaken

by ayanamifaerudo



Series: Whatever We Were Before [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Before DA: Origins preview, F/M, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Trevelyans related to Couslands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayanamifaerudo/pseuds/ayanamifaerudo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The righteous stood before the armies<br/>As a boulder stands before a tide:<br/>Unshaken, rooted there by the Maker's Hand.<br/>And the demon's soldiers broke upon their shields<br/>As a wave breaks upon the shore.</p><p> </p><p>Back then I repeatedly whispered the Trevelyan family motto: Modest in temper, bold in deed. It got me through the night and the days after. I wonder now if it would help through this new trial or would I need a new mantra more befitting to face the wrath of heaven.</p><p> </p><p>The one who hopes, who has faith,<br/>Unshaken by the darkness of the world,<br/>She shall know true peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dresses Are Optional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngest of the Trevelyan family hates dresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Dragon Age. Only Saira, her siblings and their Uncle Nikolai belong to me.

Saira hated dresses.

As a child, her mother dressed her in the most frilly, girly dresses a child could get away with. Her aunts also gave her dresses and bonnets, small-heeled shoes and be-ribboned socks. And they would coo and fret on how cute she looked, a little lady; her brothers would laugh at her disgruntled expression; and she would smile politely and indulgently turn for their benefit. At least, the dresses weren’t pink.

Saira hated dresses.

Few girls were born to the Trevelyans so they tended to spoil them a bit. Her male cousins would hover around her during parties, while her brothers played knights who guarded a princess in the tower, still teasing her of course. She had little patience for it all and when it became too much, particularly when Henry pulled her ribbons, she would chase them all over the estate which always culminated in mud-wrestling. When they were called in, her mother would be dismayed at their state –she, slathered in mud, her hair dirty and wet and her beautiful dress ruined. She was ecstatic, not only because Henry got his mouth full of mud but also she would never wear that dress again. It was itchy.

Saira hated dresses.

She was twelve years old when her mother passed away. Her dying wish, whispered to her husband, was that her daughter would never know the life of a Circle mage. The bann, who was just as in love with her now as the day of their wedding, promised. Her magic developed late, years after her brother and, then, it wasn’t enough to warrant the attention of the Circle. They buried her mother in the family mausoleum carved into a hill overlooking the Waking Sea. Her mother always loved the water, she mused as a sea breeze ruffled the capped sleeves of her black, mourning dress. She burned it that night.

Saira hated dresses.

But she tolerated the robes required to be worn by those who study in the Circle. They were swishy, loose, not itchy and she could wear them over her tunic and pants. She could still kick the mage boys who got too touchy-feely. Then again, Maxwell could always fry them. Her father couldn’t fully fulfill his promise to her mother. It was probably the emotional loss, but her magic eventually grew steadily after that windy day on the hill. It was just a different bit of magic than the traditional signs the templars looked for that it wasn’t acknowledged at first, even by her Uncle Nicky. When Uncle Nicky did find out, he and her father had a terrible row. Uncle Nicky loved his niece. The Ostwick Circle was the most lax of all Circles but he still acknowledged it as a prison for those gifted with magic. His nephew, Maxwell, seemed to thrive in it but he was more even-tempered than his sister. Modest in temper was the part of the family motto that she struggled with. But untrained magic was more dangerous than an unknown one, therefore Uncle Nicky and her father, who was adamant to keep his promise, compromised. She would study and board at the Ostwick Circle, as a scholar, her magic hidden, during the weekdays and would be at home on the weekends. The dresses were locked in a trunk and robes and pants and tunics dominated her closet.

Saira hated dresses.

They certainly weren’t practical when training with things with pointy ends. Her mother used to despair during her lady lessons, since her attention was always out the window on the castle grounds where her brothers were training with their swords and bows and arrows. Embroidery, which she was horrible at, was all well and good, but she would always pay Henry a silver to create a distraction. The moment the big bag of horse manure was dropped in the hallway leading to the drawing room, she opened the window and jumped out to the veranda. Her morning dress was slipped off and she would snatch the daggers from Cedric’s hips. During her years at the Circle, she continued sticking things with the pointy ends of the daggers gifted to her by Uncle Bryce.

Saira hated dresses.

She thought her mother and her Trevelyan aunts were the only ones who insisted on making her try even just one dress. Auntie Eleanor delighted in dressing her in fashion – those dresses with long sleeves that molded to her upper body and a narrow skirt that hung straight down. She tolerated it at best. She understood the novelty of dressing a girl for a change instead of her two boys. Auntie Eleanor relished the time whenever Saira’s mother brought her two youngest children to visit her brother in Highever. Fergus and Aedan, with Maxwell in tow, were always off with the teyrn’s soldiers and Auntie Eleanor would gossip with her sister-in-law. She, on the other hand, would sit quietly and devour Brother Genetivi’s Travels of a Chantry Scholar which the library at home didn’t have beyond the first volume. At least, Fereldan dresses were not itchy.

Saira hated dresses.

The teal dress Auntie Eleanor loaned her was not itchy but the bodice was still restricting air to her lungs and she regretted ever sleeping in it. She regretted ever wearing it at all, even when it pleased Auntie Eleanor during Lady Landra’s visit, when she tripped on the skirt in her haste to get off the bed. Shouts were heard outside her door along with pained cries and the incessant barking of Barkspawn. She cursed colorfully, when she couldn’t get to the row of buttons on her back. She took a dagger from under her pillow and proceeded to slit the dress from collarbone to waist.

Fuck dresses.


	2. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assassination theories are not things to be thinking about when you’re being targeted by not-so-friendly stares. This is not very fun, Maxwell.
> 
>  
> 
> In which Saira wakes up in a dungeon.

The night my uncle’s family was murdered, I wanted to run away across the Waking Sea, to the dual-walled city of Ostwick and back in the safety of my family’s arms. They would comfort me and tell me that everything was all right. But everything was not all right: my uncle, his wife, his daughter-in-law and his grandson were dead; his heir, Fergus, went ahead with most of the soldiers to Ostagar; and his other son, Aedan, and I were somewhere in the bannorn with a Grey Warden on our way, not to safety, but to the frontlines of the war against the darkspawn. I remember telling Aedan that we could go to my family and ask them for help. He smiled at me and ruffled my hair, both of our cheeks streaming with tears. “We have to be brave now,” he said.

I tried to be brave. It was not easy. I was hurting, physically and emotionally. I wanted to curl up and hide. But Aedan was there and he was hurting, too. His entire family was dead. So there we were huddled under an enormous tree, raindrops trickling through the thick leaves -  me, barely out of my studies and not even Harrowed, Aedan, the formal arms of the Couslands given to him only that morning and one smelly mabari giving us wet, doggy kisses.

Back then I repeatedly whispered the Trevelyan family motto: _Modest in temper, bold in deed_. It got me through the night and the days after. I wonder now if it would help through this new trial or would I need a new mantra more befitting to face the wrath of heaven.

~o~

I woke up to a searing pain in my left hand. Wrenching my eyes open, I looked at my hand, expecting it to be bleeding open. Well, it was ripped open somewhat but instead of the blood that was expected, sparks of energy emanated from my palm. _What the fuck? Why is it glowing green?_ It throbbed again and I tried to smother the agony with my other hand but unable to. Both my hands were encased in manacles. It was then that I noticed that I was surrounded by four soldiers, each with his sword pointed at me. _What was going on?_ I was on my knees in the middle of a dungeon. The air was dank and musty, the floor was cold. All the cells were empty. _Am I in the Temple’s dungeons?_

The door to the room opened and two women came in. One of them had black, short hair with a stern face and an expression that would immediately warn anyone not to mess with her. She was garbed in armor with an all-seeing eye emblazoned on the center. _She is a Seeker then._ While the Seeker walked with assured steps, the other woman was light on her feet. Her face was hooded but a chance light briefly illuminated her features: short red-hair, pale skin and eyes that could take in anything and everything in a room at once. _I know that face._ _It has been ten years but I know that face._

“Leliana?” I asked in confusion. I hadn’t seen her for ten years. I knew she became the Left Hand of the Divine. When the rebellion broke out, rumors were whispered about that the Hands of the Divine had been seen travelling all over southern Thedas. If she was here, then this other woman must be the Right Hand, Cassandra Pentaghast.

_This could not be good._

The Seeker looked sharply at me. She nodded silently at Leliana then stood in front of me.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

_The Conclave is destroyed?_ “What happened? What do you mean everyone is dead?” I asked in disbelief.

The Seeker ignored my questions, took my left hand and shook it front of my face. “Explain _this_.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you _can’t_?” She demanded.

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re lying!” She lunged for me and was about to throw a punch when Leliana stopped her.

“We need her, Cassandra.”

“Leliana, I know you vouched for her identity with what you knew of her during the Blight; but ten years is a long time…”

“At least give her a chance to explain,” Leliana admonished. She turned to me, “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

My memories were fuzzy. The last thing I remembered clearly was taking my leave of Uncle Nicky. “I remember running. I was… running from things. Skittering… _Things_ were chasing me, then… A woman?”

“A woman?”

“She reached out to me, but then…”I struggled to remember more but I just couldn’t.

There was a beat of silence, both of them staring at me. The Seeker gave a sigh and turned to her companion, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana nodded and left.

Cassandra turned back to me and released me from the manacles but bound my wrists together with a rope. “What did happen?” _Please, someone tell me what’s going on_.

“It will be easier to show you,” she said tiredly as she helped me stand.

She led me from the dungeons, up the stairs and across a large hall. It was smaller than anything I had seen in the Temple. Perhaps an outer building attached to the main one. The Seeker guided me through the double doors and out into the cold.

Snow blanketed everything. Here and there, tents were set up in-between buildings. Evergreen trees surrounded the area, snow-capped mountains acted as a backdrop. _Haven_. We were at the village in the lower valley. But something was wrong: a haze hovered in the air, everything was bathed in a soft, glowing green light. Puzzled, I looked up at the sky.

“What is _that_?” I whispered, horrified.

Clouds churned around a swirling mass of green in the sky. Right in the center was a gigantic hole. It was _pulsing_ and my left hand echoed with it. Chunks and globs frequently rained down from the center.

“We call it “The Breach”. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?”

“This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

A beat, then my hand erupted in pain. At the same moment, the Breach suddenly emitted a large quantity of energy. Screaming, I sank to my knees. _Maker, thrice damn this thing_! I shook my head as I tried to go past the pain.

Cassandra went to my side and knelt beside me. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“You say it may be the key,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “To doing what exactly?”

“Closing the Breach. Whether that’s possible is something that we shall discover shortly.”

“How do you know that this painful, glowing thing in my hand is connected with… the Breach?”

She gave me an _Are you stupid?_ look.

“Riiiight. Great. The explosion made me dumb as well.”

“It is our only chance… and yours.” There was something in her voice that reminded me of where I found myself waking up.

“You still think I did this to myself?” I said incredulously and looked at her like she was the stupid one this time.

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong.”

“And if I am not responsible?” I asked haughtily.

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

 “Do I have a choice?” Maybe doing this would help me understand what was going on. Or maybe I just wanted someone who could give me the answers I needed and perhaps take the glowing thing off me. “I understand. I’ll do what I can.”

She helped me to my feet again and we proceeded to walk through the village. I saw some of the people lying in cots, being tended by healers. Soldiers were erecting new tents. Most of them, however, stopped what they were doing and looked at us as we were passing by. Their heavy gazes were pinned on me. There was fear and confusion but the most prominent expression was anger and barely held violence. I had an inkling that the presence of the Seeker was the only thing preventing them from mobbing me.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra said, noticing the stares. “They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

It wasn’t exactly right. Grand Enchanter Fiona and Lord Seeker Lucius sent representatives in their stead. I remembered Maxwell wryly saying to me, in one of the session breaks, that they must have thought they were going to be double-crossed. I agreed with him and we passed the hour tossing theories of assassination back and forth, the likelihood of each method, and our laughter, getting outlandish by the minute.

_Assassination theories are not things to be thinking about when you’re being targeted by not-so-friendly stares. This is not very fun, Maxwell._

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed.” She stopped before a set of doors and turned to me. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” She cut the ropes binding my hands. “Come. It is not far.”

Rubbing my sore wrists, I hastened to follow her across the walkway that connected Haven to the path leading to the Temple. “Where are you taking me?”

 “Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” she said, her long gait quickly taking her across.

“You mean the smaller rifts,” I said. I noticed bodies were lined up on the sides of the walkway. _How many were slain?_

“Yes.” She called out to the guards. “Open the gate! We are heading into the valley.”

Soldiers were running up and down the path. The injured were being carted in makeshift beddings slung between two able-bodied soldiers. Most were heading up the path as we did, exhaustion, worry and fear etched into their faces. “Maker! It’s the end of the world!” One of them cried. _It certainly looks like it is._

Another pulse emitted from the Breach, more globs of what I assumed was a part of the Fade rained down from it, just as white-hot pain from my hand made me fall flat onto my face. _This is getting old._

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“How did I survive the blast?” I asked as I sat up.

“They said you… stepped out of a rift. Then fell unconscious,” Cassandra hesitated. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

The Trevelyans, for all their strong ties to the Chantry, were not the overly religious sort who ascribed everything to the Chant of Light. Belief in a higher being, in the Maker, was there but exercising faith was done prudently and without prejudice.  Cedric would name every possible female ever venerated. Henry would say it was a demon. While Maxwell would…

I paused. There was something extremely wrong here, more so than the Breach.

“Wait!” I called out to the Seeker. “Are you sure you haven’t found any other survivors?”

“No. You are the only one found _alive_.”

Panic descended. “Maxwell! By the Maker! Where is he!?!” I turned to the Seeker. “Have you seen my brother?! His name is Maxwell Trevelyan. I don’t know if he proceeded with his plan to come down to Haven to assist the apothecary with the refugees, but… Please, Seeker, I need to know where my brother is.”

“I am sorry. We could…”

The Seeker never finished her sentence. Just as we were crossing another bridge, one of the Fade globs hit the structure. Heavy stones and wood were blasted everywhere and the bridge collapsed, sending Cassandra and me rolling down among the debris to the frozen lake below, barely escaping some of the larger stones. Groaning, I took stock of my body. Nothing seemed to be broken although I took note of the numerous scrapes down my arms.

A burst of green came hurtling down and a demon materialized in front of us.  

“They’re falling from the Breach!?!” I screeched.

“Stay behind me!” commanded Cassandra as she unsheathed her sword and engaged the shade.

Another surge of energy bubbled a few feet from me. I staggered backwards, struggling to stand up as I looked around wildly for a weapon I could use. All I could see were broken crates, loose stones and a few lemons. _Unless I want to make a lemonade out of demon guts…_ I looked to Cassandra but she was occupied with the first shade. The demon finished coalescing. _Shit. Nothing to it then_. I summoned my magic and directed it to the loose stones strewn about. A pebble didn’t even move. Something was wrong. It was like a heavy blanket dampened the link between me and the Fade. _No, that wasn’t right_. It was more like the pathways that connected my magic and my conscious control were rearranged and nothing was familiar. _Ugh. Not now!_ I debated whether to bid fire instead but calling for fire without the aid of a staff always ended in my magic _really_ going out of control. The mark, on the other hand, was sputtering.

The demon raised its claws and slashed down. I rolled backwards to avoid the swipe but it caught my right shoulder. I hissed in pain. I turned back to it as it tried to spill my intestines again. I Fade-stepped to the left, pivoted on my right foot and aimed a kick to its side. It staggered back, it wasn’t even daunted. It glided quickly to me. I made to kick it again but it caught my foot. I went down and I was dragged towards it, the shade readying its claws. I scrambled to take purchase on the ice but I couldn’t hold on to anything. Desperate, I threw my left hand out, praying that the energy I felt would be enough.

It was enough. A large block of the collapsed bridge slammed onto it, releasing me. I stood up and directed the energy to the smaller debris and launched them into the demon, tearing it to shreds. I pelted it with lemons for good measure. The demon howled as it dissolved. Satisfied, I released the energy.

“Stand down!” Cassandra came at me with her sword held in front of her.

Startled at her vehemence, I raised my hands in surrender.

“You’re a mage.”

“I am,” I conceded. “Not a very good mage right now. I seem to have misplaced my magic and the Fade is all wonky.”

She hesitated but she sheathed her sword. “I cannot protect you and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.” She noticed the gashes on my shoulder, sighed, then rummaged through the pouch that hung from her belt. “Take these potions. Maker knows what we will face. We are going to the forward camp first. Most of the soldiers are fighting. We are on our own for now.”


	3. A Hairy Chest and an Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do we always land in the middle of these kinds of shit?

Jogging on the frozen ground was an exercise of good balance, nimble feet and a whole lot of luck. Knowing _my luck_ , it was nothing short of a miracle that I hadn’t face-planted on the ice and just bowled through the demons that we encountered on the way. I was content to let Cassandra charge ahead and fight most of the demons. I assisted from the sidelines even if my magic was crippled. Using the energy from the mark, I utilized a series of attacks reminiscent of those same ones I did when my force magic was accessible.

 

We were now going through the first set of stairs up the mountain. “We’re getting close to the rift,” Cassandra called back.  “You can hear the fighting.”

 

“Who’s fighting?” I panted behind her. Stairs were not my forte.

 

“You’ll see soon. We must help them.”

 

We rounded the corner and was what once the outer bailey of the Temple was now in ruins. Small fires were burning everywhere. A few soldiers were slumped on the ground. Up ahead a floating mass of green energy and evolving crystals illuminated the fighting between demons and soldiers. The Seeker and I rushed into the midst. I narrowly avoided the claws of a shade when it froze above me. I looked around and saw a bald-headed elf, twirling a staff about and casting ice spells at the demons. A bolt whizzed inches from my ear. _What the fuck?_ I whirled around just in time to see the bolt lodge itself onto another demon. _I am getting distracted._ I pried a dagger out of the hand of a fallen soldier. _Let’s go._

 

Between us and the soldiers, the remaining demons were dealt with. No sooner than the fight ended, the mage roughly took my hand and aimed it at the rift. “Quickly, before more come through!” I felt another energy going through my hand and connected with the mark on my hand. A pulse of energy and the mark connected to the rift. The air warmed and crackled. I felt a strange tugging, enticing me to bond more closely; but the pain overwhelmed any other feeling. I wanted to disengage but the firm hand of the elf prevented me from doing so. There was a suspended moment of tightening and the rift closed. I wrenched my hand to my chest.

 

“What did you do?” I narrowed my eyes at the elf.

 

Nonchalantly, he replied. “ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.”

 

“You mean the mark did something.”

 

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” he said.

 

“I think we’ve established it pretty much by now,” I said wryly at the Seeker.

 

He blinked, nonplussed, looking between me and the Seeker. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

 

“Meaning it could close the Breach itself,” Cassandra clarified. _Why are all these people talking in circles when they have already determined it to be so?_

 

“Possibly,” He looked at me. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

 

“Good to know!” A voice exclaimed behind us. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” I _know_ that voice. The last time I heard that voice was when we were saying our goodbyes at the gates of my family home. He was going back to Kirkwall after being away for two months to maintain a façade while covering for Garrett’s whereabouts. I turned around and looked at the approaching person properly.

 

“Varric!”

 

The dwarf widened his eyes. “Fiery!?” He ran to me and gave me a hug. “Shit. What are you doing here?”

 

“Me?” I laughed helplessly. “What are you doing here? Are you with the Chantry now?”

 

The elf chuckled, “Was that a serious question?”

 

“You know I’ve never set foot in the Chantry except when Hawke dragged us that time we put nettles under Mother What’s-Her-Name’s bedclothes.” He chuckled at the memory. “Nah. I’m just a prisoner just like… Wait. Fiery, you’re the one they’re talking about? The one who came out of the rift?”

 

“Unfortunately.” I said bitterly.

 

 “You know each other?” The Seeker demanded.

 

“We go back years, Seeker!” Varric said. “Fiery here visited Kirkwall occasionally through the years. Of course, each of those visits culminated in being deeply involved in what Hawke was up to at the time.”

 

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I can hardly imagine what a daughter of the Trevelyan family would do with the group the Champion surrounded himself with.”

 

“You know my name?” I asked, eyeing the Seeker. _Leliana must have told her everything_.

 

“I… Leliana told me who you are,” Cassandra had the grace to be abashed. “Let me introduce myself, Lady Trevelyan. My name is Cassandra Pentaghast. I am the Right…”

 

“I know who you are,” I interrupted her. “Maker knows how Henry idolized you. He talked my ear off reciting the tale of the Seeker who saved Divine Beatrix from a horde of dragons.”

 

She sighed. “Please do not press for details. I did what I was supposed to do and that was it.”

 

I raised my hands. “Hey, I won’t even ask for an autograph. I’ve had enough of the details from my brother. And just call me Saira. I hear ‘Lady Trevelyan’ and I look around for my Great-Aunt Lucille.”

 

Varric snorted. “If I see Lucille Trevelyan ever again it would be too soon.”

 

“She greatly misses you, Varric. By the way, what are you really doing here?”

 

“I brought him here to tell his story to the Divine,” Cassandra said before he could answer. “Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

 

“Yet, here I am,” he said, giving the Seeker a wink. “Lucky for you, considering current events.”

 

Smiling, I said. “I see Bianca is as lively as ever.”

 

“Isn’t she?” Varric proudly said, patting the crossbow on his back. “And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra said dismissively. “Your help is appreciated Varric, but…”

 

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and turned away.

 

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the bald elf said pleasantly. _In the middle of all of this, he looks like the only one calm._ “I am pleased to see you still live.”

 

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric chimed in.

 

I looked at Solas dubiously. _How can one know about something just recently made?_ “You seem to know a great deal about it all.”

 

“Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra interjected. “Well-versed in such matters.”

 

_That’s convenient._

 

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” Solas smoothly said. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

 

“It seems the only choice in the matter. Re-order priorities, more important things first.”

 

“It is a sensible one. Although sense appears to be on short supply right now.” He turned back to the Seeker. “Cassandra, you should know the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power.”

 

“Understood,” Cassandra nodded in acquiescence. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.” She turned around and led the way down the embankment.

 

“Why do we always land in the middle of these kinds of shit?”

 

With a put-upon sigh, I said, “Believe me, Varric, I’ve been asking myself that for the past eleven years.”


	4. Glorified Clerk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts of her brother are ever present as a spitting mad chancellor quacks in the background.

The road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was composed of a series of outer baileys, gates and bridges. No one knew the exact path that the faithful disciple of Andraste took as he carried the ashes of the Prophet, but the Chantry wanted to recreate the journey of Havard’s Steps.  Travelers must pass through these checkpoints as part of the pilgrimage, reciting a part of the Canticle of Apotheosis in each station.

The forward camp was located on the second bridge. I saw Leliana having a heated discussion with a Chantry brother. When she noticed us approaching, she gave a sigh of relief. 

 “You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is—“

“I know who she is,” the chancellor snidely said. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

 “Order me!?!” Cassandra scoffed in indignation. “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug. But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” Leliana said, frowning.

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey _her_ order on the matter!”

  _This is going nowhere._ “Isn’t closing the Breach the more pressing issue? Waiting for an election would likely result in a more dire situation with a lot more people dead.”

“You brought this on us in the first place!” Chancellor Roderick turned to Cassandra. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra said.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine?” I snidely muttered.

The chancellor scowled at me.

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route,” suggested Cassandra.

“But not the safest,” Leliana said. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky.”

“Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost,” cried Chancellor Roderick.

Cassandra and Leliana ignored the man as they discussed the best way to approach the Temple while Solas and Varric went to the soldiers. _Probably to ask for potions and supplies._ A cold wind blew through the area and I shivered in the rough-spun tunic and light leather armor I was wearing. I remembered putting the thick belt as I told Maxwell that I was going to ditch the latest negotiation session and explore the Temple. _Was it really only days ago_? I asked Maxwell to tell Uncle Nicky that I had a headache _._ Maxwell exasperatedly admonished that I was to get in another scrape and was going to drag him in it. _Oh, Max, I did get into trouble._ The mark sparked in response. _And now you’re not here to tell me ‘I told you so.’ Where are you?_

There was a beat of silence. _Oh, thank goodness, are they done?_ I looked back at the group. They were looking at me as though waiting for me to say something.

I frowned. “I beg your pardon. What was that?”

Cassandra made a small noise. “Which of the paths do you think would be best?”

“Now, you’re asking for my opinion?”

“You have the mark,” Solas pointed out.

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…”Cassandra said.

 _This is not going end well. Bad things happen when they let me make the decision_. I debated the consequences before me. Consequences, for there would be no matter the decision. Neither path was safe but the loss of an entire group in the mountain made me wary of that choice.

Nodding, I said “You could send soldiers to investigate what happened to the squad later, but I’m afraid that haste is what we need here. You said as the Breach expands, the faster this mark on my hand will kill me. I won’t survive long enough even for a trial. Whatever happens, happens now. I say we charge.”

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

I snatched another dagger from one of the racks on the side of the bridge.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” Chancellor Roderick sputtered behind us.

I spun around and gave him the one-fingered salute.


	5. The Wrath of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Fiery, are you innocent?”

By the time we were trudging up the final approach to the outer courtyard, I was cursing my hand, cursing disciples who had the great idea to hide the remains of a dead woman on a mountain, cursing snow for making me slip thrice onto my face, and cursing Varric.

“So, Fiery, _are_ you innocent?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snarled as I got up from yet another slip. “I don’t remember anything.”

“That’ll get you every time. Should’ve spun a story,” Varric chided.

“That’s what you’d have done,” commented Cassandra.

“It’s more believable. How many times do I have to tell you, Fiery, to ready a story just in case. You’d be less prone to end up in situations that would result in premature execution.”

I snorted. “Unlike you, I am not an effective liar.”

The situation in the courtyard was just like anywhere else but the defense was more solid and held strongly against the tide of demons coming from the rift in the center. The others with me went and helped the soldiers to stem the tide. I wasted no time and aimed the mark at the rift. Nothing happened. A shout of warning from Solas made me Fade-step to the other side of the rift. I tried again.

“You have to wait until all the demons are destroyed.” Solas shouted as he erected a barrier in front of an injured soldier.

 _Of course._ I helped the soldiers who were worst off to the side, slashing my way through and using some of the energy of the mark to fuel the meager control I had on my magic to crush the wraiths that were bombarding me with _Weakness_. After the last wraith was dispersed, I turned back my attention to the rift. All the demons were now destroyed. _Time to shine, mark of mine_. This time it was easier.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas walked to me with a contemplative expression. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Necessity. If I was still at the Circle, I would have read everything I could about remotely related to the subject.” I grinned deviously. “But I wouldn’t have resisted for more than an hour. I would have tried to do something with it, even if my research yielded nothing.”

I wanted to ignore the bodies that were scattered in the surroundings. Blackened and still smoking, they were caught in the throes of agony as the explosion blew through them. _Would I find the body of my own brother, preserved in the last moment the explosion caught him?_

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” intoned Solas.

“What’s left of it,” Varric corrected.

Cassandra indicated an area to the side beside a crumbling column. “That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

We approached the edge of the area where, I supposed, the explosion must have originated. I looked up at the mass of green, swirling menacingly. I then looked down to the area below us where a rift bigger than the others we encountered throbbed. On cue, the mark crackled with energy sending a flaring heat up through my arm.

“Are you alright?”

“Breaking every bone in my right leg was a breeze compared to this.” A headache was forming and the wounds I sustained from the previous fights were irritating me.

It was then that Leliana found us. “You’re here! Thank the Maker.”

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” Cassandra immediately took stock of the soldiers with us and issued orders. She turned to me, “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

 _No. I am not ready. I am not ready to experience unimaginable pain. Again. I am not ready to fight more demons.  I am not ready to face the reality of my brother’s fate._ I shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“This rift was the first, and it is the key,” Solas observed. _If I survive this, I am going to pick your brain, oh wise one._ “Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down and be careful.”

We picked through a ruined pathway of what must have been the balcony overlooking the center basilica. Here and there oddly-gleaming, red rocks protruded from the devastation.

 “What is this?” Varric exclaimed. “Do you see this, Saira? You know this stuff is red lyrium.”

I frowned. “Knight-Commander Meredith’s sword was destroyed. That’s the only red lyrium artifact I know.”

“I know that, but this is new stuff! What’s it doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” _You sure do know a lot of stuff, you bald elf._

“It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

We avoided going near the red lyrium when the path allowed us, me keeping myself farthest from it. It wasn’t helping with my headache.

 

**_Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice._ **

 

We all jumped in surprise as a disembodied voice echoed around us.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked.

“At a guess the person who created the Breach,” Solas replied. _Yes, I would be asking a lot of questions_.

 

**_Keep the sacrifice still._ **

**_Someone help me!_ ** A new voice shouted.

 

 “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” exclaimed Cassandra.

 

 ** _What’s going on here?_ ** My own voice sounded.

 

_What the actual frick?_

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…”

We jumped from a ledge and cautiously walked to the center. As we neared the rift, the mark suddenly flashed and an energy emanated from the rift forming a hazy image before us. A figure swathed in darkness, with glowing red eyes the only thing visible, held out its arm towards the suspended and ensorcelled figure of Divine Justinia in front of him. We saw what looked like a copy of myself run into the scene. The first two figures noticed my image’s presence.

 

 ** _Run while you can! Warn them!_** shouted the image of the Divine.

 

The shadowy figure turned to my copy, blazing eyes pinning her in place.

 

**_We have an intruder. Slay her._ **

 

There was another flash and the entire vision was gone.

Cassandra marched up to me and roughly jabbed her hand on my shoulder. “You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“Ow! Sheathe your claws, woman!” I rubbed my shoulder ruefully. “How many times do I have to repeat it?! I. Don’t. Remember.”

Solas moved forward, staring at the rift. “Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into the place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons. Stand ready!” Cassandra called out to the soldiers, moving to confer with Leliana. Varric and Solas moved aways back to a higher incline where they could control the field and lend support to the fighters on the forefront. I moved nearer to the rift. _I’m going to be in a world of pain_. I eyed the soldiers spread around, unsheathing swords and daggers, drawing back bowstrings. Cassandra made one final sweep of our positions then nodded to me.

 _Well, here goes nothing_. I took a deep breath and raised my hand once more. The mark vibrated with energy and connected with the rift. Unstable wisps of magic coalesced and lashed about. Something was trying to push through the fissure. Something _massive_. With a roar, it thundered through the opening and landed, making the ground shake. As the dust and wild magic settled, I looked up and groaned. _I hate pride demons_. Give me shades, give me wraiths. Seduce me with a desire demon or try to roast me with a rage demon. Anything but pride demons. They were huge. Humongous. They had whips of lightning. I had had numerous mana burns trying to crush a pride demon’s _Guard_.

A fortifying breath and I dived into the chaos with my borrowed daggers. Cassandra issued a challenge to the demon and it immediately set its sights on her. Leading the charge, the Seeker darted around the demon slashing and trying to get through its _Guard_ while the soldiers aided her. Solas threw barriers around the combatants as he moved his staff to divert a surge of lightning from Varric. The pride demons guard was too strong. I prodded my own magic to gauge if I could dredge up some _Crushing prison_ but this close to the original rift proved that my control was now practically none existent. I gritted my teeth and tried. Answering wisps of magic came to me and I looked around. I observed as tendrils of it wafted back and forth from the rift to the demon. _The bastard is using the crack to the Fade to fuel its Guard_. Without a second thought, I threw my left hand towards the rift. The sudden burst disrupted the energy enough that the demon’s _Guard_ was shattered. Not one to disregard an advantage, we pressed on the pride demon, finding cracks in its tough hide. Cassandra made a running leap and plunged her sword into its chest. The demon made a guttural roar and fell.

“Now! Seal the rift! Do it.” shouted Cassandra.

I was exhausted. New injuries, old injuries. A headache. I was not able to use my own magic extensively but the mark also drew on my mana reserves. _This is the last stretch_. I lifted my hand and willed the mark to connect with the rift once more. _I need to find Maxwell_.  I pulled my hand and barely heard the boom of the closing rift before darkness claimed me.


	6. Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trevelyan family is an old and distinguished house.

The Trevelyan family is an old and distinguished house, but it was never at the forefront of Ostwick nobility, contenting itself with a solid and comfortable existence as prosperous farmers, relatively successful merchants and serving the Chantry.

In 7:56 Storm, the Qunari landed near Ostwick prompting the Teyrn of Ostwick to rally the city defense and any able person to take up arms and, if the Qunari’s interest turn to Ostwick, defend the city to the last of their breaths. The Qunari however launched assaults against Starkhaven and Kirkwall. Elias Trevelyan sent his wife and his children to their relatives in Nevarra for safety while he in turn joined the other gentry in defending the city.  The Qunari hit the Free Marches hard. Starkhaven and Ostwick were able to hold them back but Kirkwall was invaded.

When the Llomerryn Accords were signed between the Qunari and the rest of Thedas, northern Thedas started its reconstruction. Those who served under the Teyrn of Ostwick were given lands and some who made exemplary feats were accorded status. The Trevelyans became a member of the nobility and the head of the family held the title of “Bann”. With their new position, The Trevelyans managed to expand their homestead and to add trading arrangements with new contacts in Antiva and Orlais.

The Trevelyans have strong ties to the Chantry. The younger sons and daughters who have little chance of becoming heirs and who aren’t interested in taking over one of the trading branches often join the Chantry to become templars or Chantry brothers and sisters. Although noted for their piety, the Trevelyans adopt a more pragmatic view of the world. This approach is exercised often in mercantile dealings and, more often than not, in political machinations. But it is particularly observed in their opinion of magic in general.

It was never a secret that the Trevelyan house produced mages on occasion and it is even said that they have relatives among the nobility of the Tevinter Imperium. When the Mage-Templar War began, the Ostwick Circle, under the leadership of Knight-Commander Nikolai Trevelyan and First Enchanter Raelia, did not decide in favor of either templars or mages. Instead, they remained neutral and opened their doors to those who wanted sanctuary. Most of Ostwick supported this decision. The more radical rebel mages saw this as an act of compliance to the crippling norm of Circle life. A number of them snuck inside the tower, murdered the First Enchanter and proceeded to wreak havoc. Knight-Commander Nikolai rallied the mages and templars and managed to re-establish order.

A good number of the Circle’s members perished in that assault. It was decided that remaining neutral would not be in its best interest. Templars were sent to Val Royeaux and Therinfal Redoubt, among them the second-born of Bann Alexei Trevelyan. When it came to choose the Ostwick delegates to the Conclave called by Divine Justinia, the knight-commander included his youngest niece and nephew not only as Circle members but as representatives of their family interests and in the hopes that their noble position would provide weight for the propositions they meant to present during negotiations.

Saira Trevelyan was the only survivor of the explosion that devastated the Temple of Sacred Ashes.


	7. People Are Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it was not too late to return to bed and pretend to be sleeping still.

The room I woke up in reminded me of the little cabin my nanny had on the grounds of the homestead. The first thing you would notice upon entering was it was always warm. No, not in that unpleasant way where you are too warm in the summer or an uncomfortable heat of a wayward fire during the winter. It reminds you of cuddle-hugs from your mother when she tucked you into bed and of the robust flavor of chicken soup.  Then, the smells hit you. Herbs drying above the mantelpiece, freshly-trussed hay. There was freshly-baked bread and smoked rabbit. Then your eyes would leap on the various knick-knacks that litter the one-room cabin, things that were accumulated over the years by an elf who had wanderlust in her blood.

Waking up with a reminder of home, was a pleasant diversion from the various pains and aches that littered my body. I was pleased to see that most of the wounds that I received from the explosion and the trek up the mountain had scabbed over. The mark was relatively calm, giving out a few sparks but otherwise it was not paining me that much. _At least, this thing has settled_. I looked down and saw that I was wearing what looked like a set of beige pajamas. It was horrendous. _And someone changed my clothes._ I sniffed my armpit. _I smell good. Who the hell saw me naked?_ Finished with my self-inspection, I stood and walked to a window.

Snow. _Check._ Evergreen trees. _Check_. Mountains. _Check_. People everywhere. _Check_. I was back in Haven. I wondered if our attempt on closing the Breach was successful. _Would I be able to start my search for Maxwell now?_ Suddenly, the door opened letting a young elf in. She didn’t look up from perusing the bundle of clothes she was carrying along with a wooden box. She proceeded to put the clothes on top of the chest at the foot of the bed. Almost like a reflex, she chanced a glance up to the head of the bed. I watched her took in the empty bed and was visibly startled when I made a small cough. She whirled around and looked at me with wide and disbelieving eyes. After a moment, realizing that she was staring, she dropped the box and prostrated herself in front of me. _Oh no._

 “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

“Oh no. Oh no,” I said, bending down to collect the spilled contents of the box. “I should have made a small noise or something when you came in.”

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant –“she said still on her knees.

“Please stop doing that– “  

“You are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

There was a Rivaini fortune teller who set up shop in a shadowy corner at the markets of Lowtown. I had just arrived at the city and was going through the list of needed ingredients for the potions I was brewing for the refugees. I had always passed her stall but never had the time to have my future divined. I was interested, of course, but I was fresh off the success in Ferelden – I had my fate in my hands and the world was before me. It was when I was hurrying to Lady Elegant’s stall that a soft _Psssttt_ beckoned to me. The Rivaini peered at me and posed a question: _Your father and betrothed are drowning. You are only able to save one. Who are you going to save?_ I always had the opinion that you always have multiple choices: option one and two, indecision, not doing anything and creating a new one. The last I held in firm belief. _Creating opportunities when there are none_. But that was before Kirkwall. So hearing her say about saving someone, let alone a whole lot of people, was unbelievable.

“It was not closed?”

“The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.”

“And I was asleep for three days?”

“Yes, my lady. Adan and the mage Solas came every day to monitor your condition. You were…uneasy in your sleep and they made tonics to soothe the fever. Mage Solas mostly examined the mark in your hand. It was amazing, my lady, to see him work. Even if I wasn’t a mage, you could feel the energy surrounding you and him. Lanya said that he –“ she stopped abruptly and self-consciously bowed her head. She looked frightened. _What does she think I’d do? Shower her with cutting remarks?_ I looked closely. She _was_ frightened. Elves, in general, were encouraged to strive to be invisible and to not engage in conversations with their betters. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘At once.’”

I sighed. _Maybe it was not too late to return to bed and pretend to be sleeping still._ “And where is she?”

“In the chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said.” With that she promptly ran to the door, opened it hastily and let herself out like the very wolves of Fen’harel were after her.

I stood there deciding what to do. I was still tired and my body was sore all over. The scrapes and scratches I had gotten three days ago were healed. I looked at my skin closely and noted that I had no new scars to boast of. The one who healed me must be a very skilled mage and from what the elf told me then, it must be that bald-headed elf, Solas. _Must remember to pick his brain if he is still around_. The only other healer I know that was skilled as he seemed to be was…. _Eff you you effing excuse for a shit, chicken mage._ I took a deep, steadying breath. _No use working up a steam over someone who was not there. Doesn’t mean I won’t stop cursing him_.

I put the last of the contents of the box, a bundle of elfroot, stood up and placed the box on top of a table. However much I wanted to start my search for Maxwell right away, I know that what I landed myself in would be far more bigger than what I expected it to be. The Conclave was supposed to be the initial move towards resolving the Mage-Templar War and looked what happened. _A big explosion. A mage the likely suspect. That suspect is me_. I was meant to just be there to lend support to the Ostwick Circle, I didn’t expect to get involved in a growing organization led by the Hands of the Divine. The gossip at the Teyrn’s Wintersend ball had whispered about Divine Justinia directing her Hands into forming an _inquisition_. Cedric got a funny look on his face when he heard that and muttered something along the lines of _“Surely not_ that _old inquisition.”_ I looked up at him inquiringly but he just shook his head. I spent the rest of the night at our manor’s library.

The best option would be to see what Cassandra wanted with me. _Most likely connected with finally and utterly sealing the Breach_. I could stay perhaps. Wasn’t helping in any way I could been part of the plan all along? Albeit this surely was more dramatic. Then, I would appeal to Leliana for help with regards to Maxwell _and_ Henry. Then, whatever my part would be in this new adventure.

With a decision made, I picked up the clothes on top of the chest. It was the same leather armor I was wearing at the Conclave, meant to conceal and let me fit in with the ordinary soldiers who were traveling with our delegation. It was as hideous as the beige pajamas I was currently wearing but _loads_ better. There was something still missing though. The daggers which were hidden in holsters on my back were nowhere to be found - c _onfiscated, most likely_ – as well as the bag of coins attached to my belt. _Thieves._ Huffing a breath in annoyance, I pulled on the boots provided, went to the door and opened it.

A blast of cold air greeted me and a sight I never thought would happen outside of the Trevelyan manor. Soldiers stood in line from the foot of the steps of the cabin, lining a path. Refugees and villagers were each going on about their business but when they noticed that I was standing at the cabin door’s threshold, they stopped and stared. _These people are weird. I hope they won’t try to do me in now that Cassandra is not with me._ Warily, I walked down the steps, eyeing soldiers and citizens alike. No one was moving, the only sounds were the crunching of feet on snow and the whistling of the wind. The soldiers who lined the path, I could deal with; but the people who were crowding around behind them were a bit too much – especially when they started to bow or kneel as I made my way to the chantry. _Now, what was going on?_ I heard their whispers – of me, the mark and the Breach – and something about a herald. The awed stares and their seeming reverence creeped me out. Hunching my shoulders, I averted my eyes and hurried up some stone stairs and past some tents. Upon seeing the Chantry, I broke into a light jog. _The sooner I get behind some walls, the better._


	8. The Divine's Directive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of those moments when the direction of your life hung in the balance.

There were more people milling about near the doors of the chantry along with some clerics who seemed to be preaching about something. Eyes turned toward me as I approached. I ignored them and pushed the Chantry doors open and hurriedly closed them. Sighing with relief, I slumped against the wood and took a minute to collect myself.

Unlike the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Haven’s humble chantry served as a small retreat for the faithful who was getting ready to climb the mountain and undergo the Test of Faith, the steps recreating the journey of Havard. It was relatively smaller than the temple. There was no grand statue of Andraste at the head but wooden carvings of her life from childhood to her burning decorated the walls. Numerous candles illuminated the main hall and burning torches were mounted on the pillars while small windows near the roof let in the wintry light. A number of people were kneeling and praying before the carvings and a chantry sister was holding a small conversation with the group. Two templars were standing guard before a door on the other end of the chantry.

Cassandra was not in sight. I wondered if she was in the dungeons waiting to clap irons on me again. Then again, why would they bother to put me in clean clothes and let me rest in a nice, comfortable cabin if they were all going to imprison me - again.  Loud voices became increasingly prominent in the quiet of the chantry. Then, a sudden bang of metal on wood made all of us in the main hall jump. The two templars looked at each other but remained still. It sounded like the voices were arguing, an irate man’s voice rising in ire and an annoyed voice, I recognized as Cassandra’s, replied in kind.

I reluctantly walked to the door and debated whether to interrupt their… conversation. I looked at the templars for a clue but they just eyed me silently. _Nothing for it then_. I knocked tentatively and opened the door.

I was greeted by Chancellor Roderick calling out to the templars imperiously, “Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

I glared at the chancellor, seeing his smug little smirk. The templars moved into the room but I turned my glare at them, daring them to try and touch even a hair of me. I was about to tell them off when Cassandra beat me to it.

“Disregard that, and leave us.” The templars saluted the Seeker with a fist to their hearts, returned outside and closed the door.

It was Chancellor Roderick’s turn to glare. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

Cassandra walked closer to the chancellor. “The Breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” They seemed to engage in a small standoff, neither backing down.

“Hey! I did what I could and it fucking hell nearly killed me.”

“Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra warned. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana narrowed her eyes at the chancellor. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

“ _I_ am a suspect?” said the chancellor incredulously.

“You and many others,” Leliana said.

He slanted another glare at me. “But not the prisoner.”

 _If I can have a silver for every glare he directs at me_.  “I have a name, you know,” I said.

He pointed a finger at me. “I don’t care who you are! No one could have survived that explosion unless they were the ones who caused it in the first place!”

“I heard the voice in the Temple. The Divine called to her for help,” Cassandra cut in.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra said with conviction. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

I snorted. “You really think the Maker would send someone like me?”

Cassandra noticed my skepticism. “The Maker does as he wills. It is not for me to say.”

“I have long determined that the Maker likes to fuck with me.” _I know. I have evidence_.

“I thought the Trevelyans were devout Andrastians,” Cassandra said.

“Don’t mistake me, Cassandra. I believe in the Maker, in a higher being. But one’s faith in the world is sorely tested when one went through what I went through in the last decade.”

Cassandra shook her head. “You are here now, are you not? That means the Maker has faith in you even if your faith in Him wavers.”

“The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it,” Leliana put in.

“This is not for you to decide,” Chancellor Roderick interjected.

Cassandra made a small noise of annoyance and walked to a small chest. She opened it and pulled out a thick book. She returned to the large table and slammed the book on top of it. “You know what this is, Chancellor?” she said, pointing at the thick book. The cover was edged in silver clasps with the all-seeing eye in relief on the face of the book. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We would close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order, with or without your approval.” She emphasized what she was saying as she took steps towards the chancellor.

The chancellor looked around the room in disgust and walked out of the room, slamming the door. A relieved yet tense silence followed his walkout. Cassandra rubbed her temples tiredly. I wanted to applaud her speech and getting rid of that annoying man.

Leliana’s voice cut through the silence. “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” Leliana eyed the book. “But we have no choice: we must act now,” she turned to me. “With you at our side.”

I had always imagined that declarations of reviving an old organization would involve a lot of pomp and pageantry. Especially if the Chantry was attached to the said organization. There would have been a parade, speeches by various important members of nobility and the chantry, followed by a gala hosted by the ruling monarch where the announcement was made and a lot of primping and fronting from all the people from all walks of life. In that small room at the back of Haven’s chantry, I expected Leliana to produce her lute out of nowhere and sing a lilting song about the first Divine. Half-expecting for that to happen, I looked at her and her expression remained still. I looked at Cassandra. _Serious as well._

“You are reviving the Inquisition of old?” I said skeptically. “An organization that later formed the Templar Order. Which, _later_ , lost their way.” Burning the midnight oil was not a waste of time.

“It was not as it is now,” Leliana explained. “The Inquisition preceded the Chantry: People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“We need those who can do what must be done. United under one banner once more,” Cassandra further said.

“And what about the Chantry?” No way would the Chantry approve of this. The remaining clerics would be jockeying for the supreme position, doing what they could to pick up the pieces. Some would be rebuilding the Chantry, their faith driving them but the Chantry was also a political structure and others, if not most of them, would see the power vacuum and rally support to stake a claim. A growing organization with the former Divine’s blessing would be a threat.

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine,” Leliana said. “And then it will wait for her direction.”

“But we cannot wait. So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave…” Cassandra said. “No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever.”

I looked at the map spread out on the table and traced a finger from Ostwick to Haven. “I didn’t imagine it would come to this when I decided to come to the Conclave. To participate in the resolution of the Mage-Templar War, _not_ to get involve in a bigger, holy war. History doesn’t paint a pretty picture when it comes to holy wars.”

“You are already involved. Its mark is upon you,” Cassandra pointed out. “As to whether this war is holy… that depends on what we decide.”

I sighed. “I only want to find out what happened to my brother. What if I refuse?”

“You can go if you wish but we can also help you,” Leliana said.

“You should know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty.” _Thank you, Cassandra. It really helps._ “The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us. It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

My immediate concerns did change, as well as a few priorities. I still did not see the extent of such a thing as bearing something no one could quite understand let alone trust would do to me. Was the general public still clamoring for my execution despite being apparently the only one who could seal the Breach? The Chantry did. Running away was always an option.

I had lots of chances of turning back. The Blight. Kirkwall. But I didn’t. Not because I was being brave – I was scared shitless – but because I wanted to see something good in this world.

“If you’re truly trying to restore order…”

“That is the plan. Help us before it’s too late.” Cassandra extended her hand to me.

It was one of those moments when the direction of your life hung in the balance. Should you marry your childhood friend out of familiarity or should you follow your heart’s desire? Should you give up a chance to sail the seas or stay at home to take on the family’s responsibilities? Should you stay and defend your parents or survive and avenge your family? Should you take a woman’s hand in alliance with the chance that shit was going to be much worse?

I took Cassandra’s hand and gave it a firm shake. Cassandra heaved a sigh of relief. Leliana smiled faintly. And the Maker-damned mark emitted some sparks. I shook my hand vigorously to get the sparks to stop.

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked.

I tested my hand. “It’s fine now. My own magic seems to have settled. I just wish I knew what this is and where I got it.”

“We will find out. What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“We barely understand what this is and you intend to add more power to it? I am not at all inclined to losing a hand, Cassandra.”

“You spent too much time with the dwarf at Kirkwall.”

“My father would agree,” I nodded. “Is there something else you need to discuss?”

The two women looked at each other, communicating silently. It was Leliana who gave a nod and turned to me.

“There is the matter of your brother, Maxwell Trevelyan.”

My heart began to beat rapidly. “Yes?”

“We organized a census to account for the Conclave attendees and the survivors,” Leliana said. “We had a register of those who attended. It was necessary, you understand, to know who would be our allies and who would be… hindrances to the efforts of the Divine.”

“We know of no survivors at the Temple except for you,” put in Cassandra. “We also extended that survey here at Haven…”

Leliana’s expression softened and looked at me sadly. “Maxwell Trevelyan is not in Haven.”

I blinked owlishly at them, the words not yet penetrating my mind. But I knew, I had always known since I saw the charred bodies at the Temple, that the likelihood of Maxwell being alive was impossible. He wouldn’t have had time to go down the mountain since we parted when I told him I was playing hooky. He would have been covering for me…

The Hands were giving me worried looks, waiting for a breakdown perhaps. I swallowed thickly, gave them a small nod and walked out the door.


	9. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all lost someone.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep calming breath. Having a breakdown in front of the chantry with a whole village full of people as your audience was not very appealing. I left the chantry the way I came to it: head down, hunched shoulders and trying not to attract attention. _Try_ was the operative word. The crowd that had gathered before may have dispersed but Haven _was_ a busy village and everyone milling around still turned at my progress. Which totally didn’t help my nerves and I started running again, making a beeline for the cabin I woke up in, ignoring Varric’s _“Fiery!?!”_ as I passed by him.

I locked the door once I was in the cabin and slid down to the floor. Noises from outside filtered in: soldiers marching on the snow, women calling out for their children to behave, the wind passing through the icicles hanging from houses’ roofs, merchants trying to sell their wares. But it was quiet inside the cabin aside from the crackle of flames from the fireplace. I waited for the tears to come. I waited for a sob to escape. I waited for the tremble of fingers and shortness of breath. They never came. I slowly stood up and went to the bed. Slipping off my boots, I laid down on top of the blanket, curled around the only pillow, closed my eyes and thought of nothing.

Several minutes passed, or maybe even a couple of bells, there was a knock on the door. I silently willed them to go away. I may not have a proper cryfest yet but that didn’t mean that I wanted some company. But the door opened and let in Varric. He took one look at me and might had seen something in my expression because he just closed the door and walked to sit on the floor beside the bed.

“At your own pace, Saira.”

A companionable silence descended as we got lost in each of our own thoughts.

Varric broke the silence again. “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Not bad, Fiery. You don’t need a fabricated story. This is more marketable.”

Varric and I shared something in common and that was avoiding awkward, painful or other things we did not want to talk about. He hid it behind careful deflection interlaced with circumlocution and veiled insult. I avoided them with pointed changes of subject and not looking at anyone’s eyes.

I snorted. “This is all bullshit. I have no idea what’s going on anymore.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I don’t know whether to be happy or not about standing after all that.”

“I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra. You’re lucky you were out cold for most of her frothing rage.”  

“I would have been raging, too, if I were in her place. The chance for peace after years of war and then it all turned to dust,” I looked at the flames dancing in the fireplace. “I am _angry_. Beyond angry. We all lost something… someone.”

“For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it,” said Varric in his matter-of-fact way. “‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived. And to find out that it was you? Ancestors! Fiery, you have the worst luck.”

I slid down from the bed and sat beside him. “If it was that bad, why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.”

“Ah, you know me,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this… Thousands of people died on that mountain, I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

He looked at me. “Besides, Hawke will have my hide when I left you here by yourself.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Twenty-six and still needs to be babysat. I already have three brothers…” I paused and bit my bottom lip. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m still not sure any of this is really happening.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there’s a damn good punch line coming. You might want to continue running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere, I’ve seen that. But the whole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

“Very poetic. I take it you’re already planning to write a book about this.”

“Wouldn’t pass it up.” He stood up. “Come on, let’s get to the tavern. You haven’t eaten for six days now, give or take.”

“Add my injuries. How am I even alive?” I said, tugging on my boots.

“Chuckles made sure you kept breathing,” Varric explained. “He helped feed nasty concoctions made of herbs and freaky plants down your throat.”

“No wonder I feel like I’m going to spontaneously sprout leaves.”


	10. Take a Hold of Your Bearings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best gear up and hold on to a tether.

Spending the evening at the tavern helped distract me. After an awkward silence when we first entered, the patrons of the Singing Maiden returned to their meals and conversations. A few still turned their heads as we navigated the tables but for the most part I was happy that I wasn’t as scrutinized as I was that morning.

Varric and I passed the time talking about his interrogation by Cassandra. When he told me of how he related Garrett’s story, I snorted in disbelief.

“Really, Varric? No wonder Cassandra is pissed with you. It’s not much better than what you wrote in your book. And really, really? You painted me as a she-demon who accompanied the Ostwick knight-commander as intimidation factor. At least, now I know why Cassandra was surprised that we knew each other.”

“I had to be more creative with _The Tale of the Champion,_ ” he admitted. “You know that enough shit happened without adding fodder to the fire. With the Chantry sniffing around, I had to.”

I looked at him shrewdly. “You know where Garrett is, don’t you?”

He wouldn’t look straight at me. “He might have mentioned something about crossing but that was before the Conclave. I don’t know where he is now.”

“All right, keep your secrets. I’ll know them soon enough.”

The rest of the evening was devoted to the whereabouts of the rest of the gang. Merrill was looking after the elves in Kirkwall who was left homeless by the fighting. She was doing a good job of keeping them away from mages and templars so far. I actually got a letter from Fenris before I departed Ostwick for the Conclave. He was keeping busy, hunting down Tevinter slavers who came south to prey on the refugees of the war. He did not mention where he was. “ _Well, if you follow the trail of corpses then you’ll find Broody,”_ said Varric. Isabela, on the other hand, went back to the raiders. Not contented with captaincy, she was calling herself an admiral now. _I have to include that particular tidbit in the letter home, though. Spare the Trevelyan ships_.  Aveline, meanwhile, was still guard-captain. Honestly, she was the only reason Kirkwall was still standing. Sebastian was angry after what happened with the Kirkwall Chantry and wouldn’t talk to the rest of us. He left separately after that last night. He took up the mantle of Prince of Starkhaven.

With a stomach full of roast ram and a little tipsy from the piss shit Varric said was ale, I entered my cabin. Someone cleaned the hearth and added fresh wood to feed the fire, the warmth washing through the dwelling, chasing away the chill of spring thaw. What cheered me up more than the cozy fire was the small wooden tub full of bathwater waiting for me in front of the fireplace. _I could kiss the person who made this happen_. _Oh look, soap and oils_. I approached the tub and glided my fingers across the water. _Perfect temperature_. Without preamble, I shed my clothes and sank into the delicious embrace of my bath.

Even though I was relatively clean – _and I don’t want to spend time wondering who saw me naked and sponged me_ \- there was nothing as relaxing as soaking your entire body and kneading your sore muscles until you languidly sigh and just lay back. But with the peace and quiet came the thoughts that was temporarily shoved to an overflowing compartment and now was free to roam around.

_The Conclave. The Breach. The Inquisition. Her involvement in all that. Henry. Maxwell._

I wanted to stay in a corner with my face buried on my knees and just turn out the world. I wanted to say _I’m tired_. I wanted to run away back home, for real this time. Maker, I wanted to do those.

 _“This is but the beginning of everything,”_ Isabela had said to me. The tensions between the mages and the templars were at the spilling point. Uncle Nikolai came to Kirkwall to mediate between Knight Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino. I was present during the talks and _that_ conversation did not go well. I was frustrated with everyone and went to the Hanged Man to vent. _“You best gear up and hold on to a tether. Grab your compass and don’t lose sight of the horizon. Take a hold of your bearings, Kitten, shitstorm’s heading this way.”_

 _First things first, a letter to papa_. _By now, he would have news of what happened at the Conclave. Cedric would have mustered the Trevelyan soldiers by now. While welcome, it would be overkill._

_Second. Who the hell took my daggers AND my coin?_

_Ugh. I need to get a decent armor… and a change of clothes._

I got out of the tub and dried myself with the towel left out for me on the bed. Donning a robe – _seriously, who did this? –_ I proceeded to take some writing materials left on the table and started to compose a letter.


	11. Ruffles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Saira met the Inquisition's golden ambassador.

The tasks I had set for myself last night took about two hours to complete. After a breakfast of some type of porridge and dried druffalo with Varric, I went in search of Cassandra to ask for the daggers and the coin that they had stolen. The dangerous scowl leveled upon me at the word _stole_ was enough to close my mouth while she rummaged the contents of a sack.

“The wheels are in motion now, Herald,” she said. “We are waiting for news from our scouts and replies to our inquiries to the nobles in the Bannorn. I do not see the necessity of informing the nobility but Leliana assured me that it was necessary.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Whether you like it or not, your input in matters will matter. The nobles would no doubt hear of you and your involvement. People are calling you the Herald of Andraste; that title carries a lot of weight.”

“Why the fuck are they calling me the Herald of Andraste?”

She looked at me with the same expression she gave me during the ascent to the Temple. _I said something dumb again_. “Remember that you were found as you exited through a rift. The ones who found you saw a woman inside the rift. It was passed throughout the people and now they’re saying that it was Andraste herself.”

“Pish posh, draw the latch. That’s nonsense.”

She stood up and handed me what I asked for. “People have been hoping for the end of this war. The Conclave was meant to be the beginning of peace and that shattered. What now should they hold on to?”

“This will be another headache,” I sighed. “Well, I got my things back. Thank you for keeping them. Can you tell me where I could get clothes and decent armor?”

 “Harritt could provide you with armor. His forge is located outside the gates,” Cassandra frowned in thought.  “As for clothes and needed supplies, I would suggest the quartermaster, but Threnn is being sequestered by the commander and Lady Montilyet so it would be best to ask them. Come, I can take you to the ambassador now. It is time you meet her.”

We walked out of her cabin and headed toward the Chantry. Instead of the room we had our meeting in, she led me towards a door to the side. She knocked smartly and we entered after a positive reply from within.

A handsome woman sat behind the desk, busy writing something on a long piece of parchment. Her dark coloring suggested she was Antivan. She was wearing a bright golden dress made of satin accentuated with ruffles and an overcoat of blue royal sea silk. She looked up as we approached her desk and her eyes widened as she took note of who was with the Seeker and stood up.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet,” introduced Cassandra. “Our ambassador and diplomat. Josephine, this is Lady Saira Trevelyan.”

She actually curtsied. “I’ve heard much. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Please, Lady Montilyet, just call me Saira.” And I actually looked around for my Great-Aunt Lucille.”

“The Herald ( _Saira,_ I hissed. _Just Saira_.) wants a change of clothes and possibly some supplies,” said Cassandra.

The ambassador smiled at me. “I would be delighted to help, my lady.”

“Then I will leave you. The Commander wanted a word about the camp blocks.” With that Cassandra exited the room.

“Lady Trevelyan, you wan-“

“Saira, please, Lady Montilyet.”

After a long look at me, the ambassador smiled. “Very well then, Saira, if you would call me just Josephine in return.”

“Of course.”

“I understand you wanted a change of clothes. I apologize about the change of clothes you were given but the armor you were wearing was beyond repair. You may be used to clothing made of better material. I have requisitioned additional supplies from the quartermaster and we are trying to negotiate an exchange with the merchants already here in Haven. I would have more material available when trade is assured again.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t need fancy dresses or pants made out of satin,” I said, uncomfortable. “I just wanted to know where I could purchase some shirts and pants, possibly some soft shoes and extra boots. I have coin. Cassandra returned my coin to me. Just direct me to a good merchant and I am good to go.”

“It is of no consequence,” said Josephine. “You are helping the Inquisition close the Breach. It is the least I could do.”

“No,” my tone brook no argument. “I’d rather you spend that coin on the refugees. They need it more than I do. I have enough to cover my clothing expenses. I take it those who work for the Inquisition could have their meals at the tavern. Another arrangement, no doubt. All I ask is for some basic supplies and the name of that merchant.”

She studied my expression. “Very well then. A merchant by the name of Seggrit has set up his wares by the gates. He has a selection of clothes you could choose from. As for the supplies, I will send for someone to deliver them to your cabin momentarily.”

“Thank you.” I gave her a nod and was about to turn to go out when she called back.

“I nearly forgot. I’d like to discuss your family.”

_My family? She’s not going to drag the entire family in this mess, is she?_ I approached her warily. “Why? You want to know about the seventh most illustrious family in all Ostwick? Or is it eighth?”

“From what I heard at the last summer ball, you are now ranked fourth.”

“The summer ball?” I said and thought about last summer. “Oh, you mean Great-Aunt Lucille’s party.”

She nodded. “Everyone of distinction in the Free Marches attends Lady Trevelyan’s summer balls. I don’t recall seeing you at any of them.”

I smirked. “Attend one ball, and you’ll fend off invites for a dozen more. It was never a secret that I am a mage; it never stopped the others though. I am the only daughter, families have sons. The food was peppered with too many attempts at matchmaking for my tastes.”

“A common peril among nobility no matter where one goes,” she laughed good-naturedly.

“Now I know why ‘Montilyet’ sounds familiar. Our families trade together, don’t we?”

“Once,” she said reluctantly. “These days, our vessels are a touch more modest.”

“Oh.”

“Well, we’re getting off subject,” she said. “I was going to ask if it was all right to send your father a formal letter offering our condolences. I… saw the completed survey and… I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“I… Thank you. I am going to send a letter to papa myself. But I greatly appreciate you sending a letter on behalf of the Inquisition. Papa would receive it well.”

“Very well, then. I will also give news of you and of the Inquisition.”

“That will go over well and generate panic if Cedric is not in a panic now,” I muttered. “Thank you again. I guess I need to go see Harritt about an armor now.”

The ambassador gave me a nod and I retraced my footsteps out the chantry.


	12. That Crush You Had in Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Saira meets another familiar face.

I wandered the village; reacquainting myself with the Haven I remembered ten years ago with the new Haven that had sprung up since the discovery of the ashes of Andraste. _Not at all what you described, sister_ , Maxwell had said to me. Indeed, what was once a handful of small, dilapidated cottages was now a hamlet of sturdy, wood-and-brick houses, an inn and a tavern, a myriad of merchant stalls and a fully-restored Chantry. _I wonder if the hidden room in the Chantry was still intact._ All in all, Haven was a picturesque little village worthy of a pilgrimage. _At least, there was no murderous cult now._

The place was bustling with activity. Refugees, villagers, and soldiers were all going their own way, performing tasks, getting together some semblance of functionality and caring for the wounded. They were tired and wounded, their shoulders heavy with the strains of the war and the events at the Conclave bowed them down even more. At first glance, they didn’t look capable of building an organization to tackle the war and whoever was responsible for the explosion. _Then again, Andraste’s armies began with a few scattered tribes of backwater dog lords_. I could see their eyes brighten in determination and none too few were looking at me as I passed through the streets. _Better get a cowl or hood as well._

I made good use of the coin I had when I bartered for a bundle of clothes from Seggrit at his merchant stall. Three cotton shirts, two trousers, a cowl and a pair of druffalo hide boots did not make a wardrobe but they were better than nothing.

Meeting Harritt was in itself interesting since the man was a no nonsense type of person when it came to armor. The set he gave me was sturdy: long-sleeved shirt made from nugskin reinforced with a small breastplate attached to a short vest of leather made from druffalo hide, a belt of the same material with slots and small pouches where I could stow potions, daggers and other small tools, medium-length leather gloves and extra hood. He even threw in another pair of knee-high boots.

“If you want something more fancy, bring your own design,” he said after I thanked him profusely. “And you’ll need materials. Want to improve your equipment? Bring them all here. We’ll make sure it’s done right and proper.”

After that, I made my way down the road to the small dock I saw at the lake. Bypassing the dock itself, I went down to the edge of the frozen water. The silence of the place was a welcome change from the noise of the village. I breathed deeply, the cold early spring air bringing color to my cheeks. _Ah, I miss the Frostbacks_. Winter in Ostwick was never as cold as it was in Ferelden and we never get the same amount of snow either. I tentatively tested the frozen water, wondering if I could take a shortcut towards the other side. Just as I was confident enough to begin walking, a voice suddenly sounded behind me.

“Be careful. The mountain cold is keeping the lake’s surface frozen but there’s no telling if the spring thaw already worked its way underneath.”

Not expecting anyone, I whirled around and in the process forgot my footing and slipped. Two strong arms prevented me from banging my head on the ice though.

“Maferath’s saggy fronts! How long have you been standing there?”

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you,” said the voice.

With the help of the hands keeping me steady, I stood up and made to salvage my dignity. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t be walking on ice anyway to get to the other side. Maybe I’ll just use the—“ I trailed off as I took a good look at the stranger… A stranger he was not. “Knight-captain Cullen!?!”

“Saira!” He exclaimed as he also recognized me. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here, what are you doing here?” I was surprised he was here in Haven. Last I heard he was keeping peace between the templars in Kirkwall and the loyalist mages who continued to reside in the Gallows. He was also helping Aveline in bringing some stability to the city.

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall,” he paused then gave a small chuckle. “I should’ve known you were the Lady Trevelyan Cassandra was talking about. None would’ve made quite an entrance like you did.”

I rolled my eyes. “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you did. Again.”

The last time we saw each other was when he covered for Hawke’s party’s departure from the Gallows. He made sure that we were not pursued by ones who would’ve done us harm by mere association with the mage who started it all. Maker! The years had done him good. What before was boyish charm was now full-blown attractiveness. He tamed the unruly, golden curls and was now slicked back and styled. There was a small scar bisecting the upper left corner of his lip.

 Noticing I was staring at him, I was about to pursue the subject of his presence in Haven when a soldier approached us.

“Ser! Knight-Captain Rylen has finished his inspection and is ready to report on our supply lines.”

“Ah, thank you. Tell him I would be there momentarily.” The soldier saluted and went back inside the village. Cullen turned back to me. “I should get back to work.”

“We should catch up some time.”

He awkwardly rubbed his neck as he smiled shyly, “I would like that.”

“Go on then. Looks like there’s something important you need to do.”

He gave another smile as he walked back to the village.

I looked at across the lake once more. _Funny thing. It seems everyone I know are congregating in Haven. Leliana, Varric, Cullen. Next thing I know I’ll hear someone exclaiming ‘Enchantment!’_ I sighed. _There’s one more thing I have to do_.


	13. Who Is He

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's suspicious but oh so fascinating

After asking a few soldiers where I might find Solas, I skirted around the main section of the village, eager to get away from the constant staring and the whispers and made my way down a side path just around the tavern. I wanted to thank him properly for keeping me alive, for containing the mark. It was behaving now, unlike before when it continually emitted sparks. With the stabilization of the Breach, it stabilized as well. Apart from thanking him, maybe… perhaps I could ask him a questions about it. The Breach had only been there for a week, it seemed rather unlikely that anyone would have had an extensive knowledge about it, the least of whom was an apostate elven mage who sprung out of the blue like mushroom.

Solas was standing outside what I assumed was his cabin.

“Uhm… Hello.” I said awkwardly.

He turned to me with a faint smile. “The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

I groaned. “Not you, too.” His eyes shined with amusement. “Am I at least riding a shining steed?”

He chuckled. “I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.”

“I didn’t ask for this… but someone has to find a way to seal this Breach.”

“Spoken nobly indeed.”

“No, just no, Solas,” I said, tiredly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m mocking you. This age has made people cynical.”

“A storyteller told me that heroes are everywhere; but this, the whole in the sky? We don’t need heroes. We need a miracle.”

“Every Great war has its heroes,” he look at me closely, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“The kind who doesn’t fuck things up.”

He nodded. “It isn’t always that easy… but I wish you luck.”

“Thank you… I guess.”

He hummed as he turned and looked at the swirling green in the sky. “I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed.”

I looked at him, surprised. “Was that in doubt? I thought you joined the Inquisition to lend your expertise. That implies that you have to stay until we figured out how to close the darn thing.”

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

I shook my head. “You came here to help, Solas. Cassandra and Leliana know that and they trust you to do what you can. I, for one, would hardly let anyone use that against you.”

“Thank you,” he looked surprised at what I said.  “I appreciate the thought. For now, let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

“Yes, Cassandra did mention that if we’re going for a second attempt, we need more power. You think we could find that with the mages or templars?”

“I believe so. The mages could channel their magic through you and amplify your own reserves to direct the power in the mark. On the other hand, the Commander believes that a number of templars could suppress the Breach enough for you to seal it,” he said, frowning at the thought.

“These are all theories. We don’t know that it will work for sure,” I looked at my hand, the haze of the mark’s magic slowly clearing. “What if something goes wrong? I am rather attached to my hand.”

“That you are. I’ve searched the Fade for answers, asked some of the spirits and witnessed important events when the Veil was the common factor.”

“Wait. Wait. You searched the Fade, asked spirits…?” I asked, surprised. “You actually, consciously travel through the Fade when you sleep?”

“Yes. Everyone is capable of this except for the dwarves.”

“I know that. But, you actually… actually…” I looked at him closely. “You’re a _somniari_ … Real Dreamers are really rare, let alone a talented Dreamer with the amount of control that you apparently have. I only know of one other. What are the odds of me meeting two Dreamers in just under ten years?”

“You know of another?” he asked as he looked at me curiously.

I nodded. “He had trouble with demons attracted to his power. Hawke helped him and sent him to Tevinter.”

“You sent him to Tevinter?” His tone told me he did not quite like what I said.

“Not _me_. It was his own choice. The Dalish was… afraid of him and the Keeper did not know enough to teach him to master his magic. Tevinter was the only place where he could find the help he needed. They say that there are a few _somniari_ there. Besides, he’s doing well.”

He said nothing and just continued to look at me. While his solemn face did not betray his thoughts, his eyes held a different story.

Eager to escape the scrutiny I grappled for something to pierce the silence. “You really travelled the Fade? I wish I could do that. I do find myself there but to have your level of control…”

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” he said, his voice changing its cadence.

“Ruins and battlefields? You could do that in the Fade, visit the past?”

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

I raised a brow. “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous? What if something was inside a cave or something?”

“I do set wards,” he smiled indulgently.  “And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

“You feed the giant spiders? They’re big enough without you feeding them.”

He chuckled. “It is occasionally dangerous, yes.”

“But to think of all the amazing things you’ve seen… that’s amazing.”

“It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.”

Of the mages I had met, no one had ever talked about the Fade with such passion and delight as this elf. They held a cursory interest but also a great amount of fear. _Beware, the demons_. _Never freely roam the Fade when you dream. Always be cautious. The demons lie in wait_. There were no talks about friendly spirits or visions of places in the past. When I met Feynriel and learned of his problems with his dreams, I wrote a letter to my mentor, First Enchanter Raelia, asking for her advice. She gave the same advice as Keeper Marethari. But Hawke and I, as well as the other mages in our party wondered if there was another avenue we could pursue aside from killing the boy. The final decision had Fenris storming out of the alienage.

I stared at Solas as he stood there quite contentedly, his eyes lit in excitement as he discussed the Fade. He talked with all the seriousness and gravitas of a learned scholar but there was a childlike fascination underlying it. The lack of vallaslin on his face told me that he was not Dalish; but his manners and bearing did not call to mind a life lived in a city alienage. _Who is he?_


	14. Love, Your Daughter

 

_9:41 Dragon, -th day of Guardian_

 

Dearest Papa,

~~I think you have to sit down for this. I—~~

~~Greetings! It’s your wayward daughter, already em~~

~~I wish I know how I could~~

By now, you have probably heard about what happened at the Conclave. It’s destroyed. The mages, templars and the Chantry are out for blood. There’s a hole in the sky. There are demons everywhere. I walked out of a rift. I have been taken prisoner by the Inquisition. There is some unstable magic embedded in my hand.

And, papa, Maxwell and Uncle Nicky are gone. They’re gone and the world has been turned upside down. I lived. But they’re gone.

No one knows how I came to have this mark but it seems that the Inquisition believes that I may be able to seal the Breach. The Inquisition is sending me tomorrow to the Hinterlands near Redcliffe to visit a certain Mother Giselle. I think you might recognize her, papa. She is that Chantry mother from Jader who passed the chance to be a Grand Cleric in order to be part of the relief mission put together by Enchanter Rhys. She wants to meet with me… or I guess with the Herald of Andraste.

The Herald of Andraste. Everyone is calling me that. I don’t feel very holy these days nor feel very lucky that I bear this mark. _Providence_ , the Right Hand of the Divine said. In this matter, I agree with Chancellor Roderick, as horrid as he is, that my involvement is a coincidence and an accident. The Chantry has declared the Inqusition as a band of heretics and denounced anything to do with the so-called Herald of Andraste. I am not comfortable with the whole Herald business and, frankly, I wish they stop calling me that. I am anything but and Henry would laugh his butt off if he hears about this.

Henry. With everything that has been going on… What news of the templars who were sent to Val Royeaux and Therinfal Redoubt? Have _you_ heard anything from him? I would find out what I can from here. Maker knows if the Inquisition would use me as poster girl for their cause I may as well use their resources. The Nightingale is here. ~~I know you’re reading this, Leliana.~~ If anyone could find out where Henry is, then she can.

Papa, I wish you were here… and half the castle. Maker, I wish Maxwell was here beside me, like always. You would have put everything to rights in a week’s time. I don’t know what I am doing but I am resolved to do this till the end. It is not the safest thing to stay and aid the Inquisition but it is the right thing to do. I need this. Here is the chance for me to make a real difference, to help.

On that note, I wish for you to send some things I need. I am enclosing a list and I hope Elanna didn’t empty out my kit.

Give my love to Cedric and take care of yourself, papa. Don’t do anything reckless. Leave that to your daughter. I will be alright.

 

Love,

Saira


	15. To Punish Oneself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt. It's a powerful thing.

 

Haven was abuzz with the news of the fighting at the Crossroads of the Fereldan Hinterlands.

_Not that I care. Should be. Supposedly._

The oh-so-important council were getting ready for the formalization of the newly-minted Inquisition. True, the organization had been active for some years now but they were operating under the orders of the Divine. This one right here? This was the real deal and I was right smack in the middle of it.

But although I was heralded as the… Herald of Andraste and everyone was looking up to me to be their savior from the large butthole in the sky and I oh so wanted to do something with my hands even as to carry firewood from the logging quarry, Cassandra asked me to take it easy for a while.

“You have barely survived an explosion that killed hundreds, you have barely healed injuries, you have foreign magic forced into your system and you have barely eaten anything for a week. You need to rest, Herald. Recover. We will call you when we need you at the War Room.”

With that she went back to shouting at a poor recruit about the negligence of his squad with the requisition masterlist.

 _Aaaarrrrggghhhh_. If I didn’t do anything right now I would go out of my mind with boredom. I wouldn’t bother Solas again, despite the headway I made during that one conversation. I immensely wanted to ask all sorts of questions but felt that I was going to be a bother to him since when I caught a glimpse of him again, he was busy poring over some books and parchments and was intent with a smoking pot of herbs.

I intended to ask Varric about any news regarding the red lyrium they found at the Temple, but he couldn’t be found at his tent nor the tavern nor anywhere else. _Where is that dwarf?_

Leliana was next on the list as well as Cullen; but they were part of the council and were busy trying to gather enough information to decide the next move, bringing order to the camp and the village and seeing to the people. I ask them what she could do in the meantime but all I got in return was the same answer as the Seeker gave me.

 _What am I, some glowing pet to be put in a corner and the polished to a shine when needed to be shown_ off? I was going to tear my hair out. 

* * *

 

_Green roses_

Catriona Trevelyan could make a flower bloom with a touch. The most her daughter could do to keep a plant alive was to water it daily and to pull the pesky weeds from around it; she gave her only these tasks after Saira’s fifth succulent died.

But this time, _this_ time, she asked for her help in cultivating the green roses given to her by a Tevinter guest. They were careful and Saira spent hours in the library, in a big over-stuffed chair that threatened to engulf her small body, cross-referencing various books with regards to its care.

After months of research and careful cultivation, the green roses finally bloomed – just in time for her mother’s birthday.

 

_Oranges_

Cedric was juggling oranges as he stood at the foot of their mother’s bed; Maxwell was going round and round about, trying to distract him into dropping the fruits. Meanwhile, she and Henry were chewing as fast as they could and spitting the seeds into trying to land as many of them in two small jars a few feet from them. Mother was laughing at their antics when a coughing fit made her jolt from her place in bed.

She and her siblings immediately stopped and rushed to her side. One patted her on the back, one adjusted her blankets, one held her hand and one gave her a glass of water.

Their mother smiled at them gratefully, Cedric dabbed a spot of red from the corner of her mouth.

The room was silent when the healer came for her nightly herbal soak. As the siblings said good night, she checked the jars to see if she and Henry managed to put anything in them.

Each contained five orange pips.

 

_Embrium_

Her father brought flowers for his wife every day: vandal aria, crystal grace, embrium, prophet’s laurel and even spindleweed. Every single day, he brought a small pot of one of those and proceeded to water the other pots of plants that were already there.

For half the morning, her parents would talk behind closed doors. She would lean against a wall outside, waiting for her turn to visit and listening to whispered conversations, quiet, gentle laughter and long pauses of silence.

She would doze off and her father would find her slumped against the door. A soft touch would rouse her quickly. She always scrutinized her father’s face whenever he came out of the room. He seemed to know what she was looking for and he would smile.

Yet, there was always a sadness lurking behind his eyes.

 

_Apples_

The book said you have to cut the apple into three pieces and rub them on the affected area.

1 slice. _Maybe I could finally show her what I can do with my magic._

2 slices. _Maybe this will help mother get better._

3 slices. _Maybe everyone will smile again._

* * *

The healer’s area was near Solas’s cabin. Once composed of only one cabin, the influx of wounded refugees and soldiers from the fighting and casualties from the temple explosion made the cabin a tad too small to accommodate them all. It was now a sectioned patch of land bordered on three sides by the apothecary, Solas’s cabin and an empty one where the ones with the worst injuries were confined. I dubbed that one the _Screaming Hall_ for the screams that went on and on as useless limbs were sawn off or spilling guts were shoved back into their fleshy cages. A wide open tent was put over the space in front of the cabins – cots were laid out, earthen jars of steeping potions to the sides and arbor’s blessing were hung all around.

I threw my energy at working at the healer’s tent. The apothecary, Adan, was no healer and the few mages and surgeons available for healing were harried and overworked. Not to mention, not everyone was very charitable to mages right now. I set that record straight immediately. All but outright lecturing the patient and threatening to leave the gangrene.

“Good sir! If you wished not to be parted with the gangrene, then you should have told us so. It’s a very nice patch of flesh, I tell you. The ladies will surely come flocking,” I said to one refugee who spit a glob of saliva at one healer. Good thing he had bad aim.

It was in one of those situations that Varric found me in a healer’s tent a few steps outside the apothecary’s cabin. I was standing to the side of a cot where a healer – a surgeon – was examining a soldier whose knee was almost cut in half. I could tell that there was no saving the lower leg. The soldier was in agony and the surgeon was trying to gauge where to best make the cut. _An inch or is two inches better?_

“You know, say what you will about him,” began Varric as he stood next to me also observing. “But he would have bonked that guy’s head, shoved him aside and proceeded to light up and pour enough magic into that knee that it will work again good as new.”

I sighed. “I know. For all that he’d done, he was a damn good healer; the best I’ve seen.”

“Would’ve been nice if someone like him was here.”

I hummed in agreement before I bonked the soldier’s head myself. “I’d rather you be alive with no leg than dead.” I put my hand on the soldier’s shoulder and smiled. “No, you wouldn’t be able to be a soldier anymore; that doesn’t mean that you’re a coward or useless. Faithless is he who gives up at first sight of a seemingly insurmountable plight. There is work to be done other than protecting and defending. And not digging pits for latrines either! Leave that to the new recruits.”

The soldier looked me, surprised. Probably because I had the gall to smack a patient not because of what I said. _Yeah, I don’t know where I come up with this shit, either. Mother Mallol really could preach_.

After that day I could always be found in the apothecary, assisting the crabby Adan make potions and tinctures to help the healers with their charges. I had, of course, a modicum knowledge of healing magic. Not anything major though; but enough to lessen the number of people with abrasions, sprained ankles, shallow to midline gashes, dislocated shoulders and fevers. Anything that required setting broken bones and putting guts back into stomachs and I was calling for the more experienced healers. Magic would have made those with the latter injuries heal fast though. They would not have had lost limbs either.

I had been there for two and a half days already, with little to no sleep and taking only small breaks to eat or go to the outhouses. Varric tried to make me go with him to the tavern but he was met with a slightly crazed but determined gaze. It was as if by saving the ones still alive I would be able to drown out the reality that I survived but my brother, my uncle and surely some cousins did not. There was guilt. Oh yes. Why they had died and why I survived, now being hailed as someone I was not.

The elf, Solas, was there, too, from time to time. I would sometimes ask about the type of healing magic he was using whenever I felt something I was not familiar with. Otherwise, I left him alone and continued my streak of ‘beneficial madness’ as Varric put it. He never bothered me but I would feel his gaze when _I_ used my own magic. Perhaps the longest thing I said to him was when I babbled about elfroot.

“Elfroot leaves and roots are useful for inflammation and infection; crush them or add them to poultices and they would be effective. These are the common methods but I once saw my nanny crush the leaves in her hands and add them to steaming hot water. I understand most don’t do this but the aroma lightened and invigorated the air and helped clear my lungs… We call it elfroot, as do the Dalish, but was it really called that by the ancient ones?”

Adan dragged me away for some task or other as Solas looked on, bemused.

It was on the third day, I was running on pure adrenaline and a few bites of porridge, when Leliana came to the tent, dragged me to my cabin, literally, and made me strip my clothes dirty with blood, dirt, vomit and spilled potions. She silently pointed to the bath waiting for me. She was there, glaring at me while I sluggishly scrubbed three days of sweat and grime. Then, she made me eat, keeping me company while she chatted about, of all things, shoes. I would have preferred that she told me about the Inquisition’s progress but fatigue was catching up to me and I just let her drone on about how her blue, be-ribboned shoes would be ruined with all the snow and slush in Haven.

I didn’t know when I fell asleep. The next day, I went back to the healer’s tent. I was met by a scout and was barred from entering by the Nightingale’s orders. I went to the apothecary but Adan chased me out.

 _Effing Leliana_.


	16. Black Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven mourns.

_the wind that stirs_  
their shallow graves  
carries their song  
across the sands

The goodwoman Iona stood clutching the black veil that draped over her head, the wind trying to whip it off. All of Haven had gathered around the shores of the lake. Massive funeral pyres had been built along the snow-covered beach. The day had come to say their final goodbye to those they had lost at the Conclave.

 _heed our words_  
hear our cry  
the grey are sworn  
in peace we lie

The remaining soldiers had piled the bodies  they could recover on the wood, most of which were unrecognizable beyond the burnt, exposed flesh of frozen horror. They were carefully wrapped in white cloth usually reserved for the dead and soaked in select herbs and oils, the former to reduce the smell of burning flesh.

 _heed our words_  
hear our cry  
our names recalled  
we cannot die

A song of sorrow rose from among the women from the bathhouses, momentarily distracting the cries and the silence. But it faltered after a few lines and the wind carried off the echoes.

 _when darkness comes_  
and swallows light  
heed our words  
and we shall rise

But a hesitant voice took up the song. The melody built in strength and the lilting voice grew louder. Everyone looked around to see the singer. Iona looked to the space where the Inquisition council stood; and there she saw the Herald singing of longing and sadness, fighting through her own tears. She swayed slightly yet she never wavered.

She didn’t know what possessed her to sing. She was never one to sing in public. Sure she had sung when others could hear her, usually it  was her brothers and cousins, just never in front of an audience – a sea of strangers.

Then, she was crying and Leliana was holding her hand and she faltered as she gasped a breath. But the Nightingale started singing and soon all of the survivors sang the song her mother taught her and her siblings. It made her cry harder. _Maker damn it. I don’t usually cry in front of people. No, don’t look at me, Cullen!_

But that song… that song. It was fitting somehow.

_..and I will wait beyond the verdant shores…_

The smoke hung around the lake for more than two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The song is entitled The Ballad of Ayesleigh, said to have been written after the Battle of Ayesleigh, which ended the fourth Blight.
> 
> -Leliana sings a different song.


	17. Yes, I Was There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain may have been a hero once, but he was no hero at the Battle of Ostagar.

Baking is an exact science. You need to measure out the exact amount of ingredients, knead and roll the exact amount of times, and bake for the exact amount of minutes. You cannot rush baking.

Baking is art. Once you mastered the basics, you can just throw in the flavors you wanted and you create something wholly new. From delicate substitutes to common sugar to exotic spices; you just have to have a wild imagination.

Baking is a therapeutic hobby. A basic dough contains flour, yeast, sugar and salt; its pillowy and elastic characteristics allows for you to practice your massage skills and how strong your hands are. You may worry about over-kneading, but Nana assured you that it takes a really long time and a whole lot of force to over-knead a piece of dough.

It’s stretchy and resilient and perfect for relieving stress.

I was barred from entering the healing area by a parade of scouts and messengers courtesy of either Leliana or Varric. I tried sneaking in through the narrow pathways between the cabins, but they always, _always_ knew where to find me.

“I’m sorry, Herald, you are still recovering. You cannot overtire yourself.”

Those who knew of me stirred me to a chair or a barrel near a brazier and handed a steaming cup of some drink or other. I wondered when they were going to start patting my head going _Be a good girl and stay there, alright. Mommy’s going to go do big people things._ I handed most of what they gave me to the children and directed the elderly to the spaces by the braziers.

They meant well, I knew that but this mollycoddling had to stop. Doing nothing in the midst of everything was trying on my insanity… my usual insanity. I was getting beyond desperate.

I approached one of the notice boards and noted the reports and news for public consumption. _What was necessary for public consumption_. I doubted that the council would disseminate sensitive information. _Probably why Chancellor Roderick is all but breathing fire like a nesting dragon in front of the Chantry_. I snickered.

Other posts contained maps for billets and refugee tents. Another called for assistance from the healers and the apothecary. A small square poster with ink drawings of a quill, a raven, and a nug was tucked in a corner. Lists were also abundant, the longest of which was a poster headed by a bold REQUISITIONS. _Maybe there is something I can do._

A passing scout pointed me to a woman in near the Chantry, talking with a messenger. She was surrounded by three tables overflowing with ore samples, cloths, swords and arrows, and a crate of chantry candles.

It was a while before she noticed me there, trying to be nonchalant. _Please don’t let her recognize me._ “No, my lady, I don’t know where the other nobles are.” Wow, she didn’t.  “I suggest you ask Ambassador Montilyet.”

I looked down at the dress Josephine found me to wear and winced. She was of the opinion that as the Herald _and_ a lady from the Trevelyan family, I should dress accordingly. She even made sure that the armor I recently acquired from Harritt was taken to be repaired and polished. “Repaired? I just had it good as new from Harritt!” _Ugh_.

“No, I’m not. I mean…” I cleared my throat. “I saw the requisition list and I was directed here.”

“Oh. Threnn, Inquisition quartermaster. I’m doing what I can to supply this mess. If you find what I need to fill one of my requisitions, I’d appreciate you bringing it in.”

“What do you mean with requisitions?” I asked as I looked around the tables.

“I’m making this Inquisition run with what we have, but we’re not a real army. We’re stretched thin on materials, so I’ve put up requisition list for anything that could help our people. Here, take a look,” she said as she handed me a copy of the list. “You find some iron and a good logging site, maybe Harritt can get our troops better weapons.”

I looked down the list and found some of the items could easily be done. “What do you do here?” I asked as I rolled and pocketed the parchment.

She dismissed the messenger with a nod and began to root around the crates. “I make sure the Inquisition troops have food in their bellies and iron in their hands. Both are important. Lot of people expecting us to be heroes, marching all day to fight the demons. Turns out heroes need to dig latrines just like everyone else.”

“Big responsibility there. How does someone end up as quartermaster for the Inquisition?”

She turned to look at me and stood with her arms crossed. “I served Ferelden under Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. Best commanding officer this world has ever seen.”

I twitched. My eyes narrowed. The woman continued in rapturous praise.

“After they all turned on him at Denerim, though, there wasn’t much use for people who held that opinion. King Alistair offered my services to the Inquisition to get rid of me. He knew I supported the teyrn.”

“Good, old Alistair,” I chuckled darkly. “Loghain may have been a hero once, but he was no hero at the Battle of Ostagar.”

Her face darkened. “A lot of people think they know what happened at Ostagar; but I was there. Teyrn Loghain never betrayed his king. If he brought the reinforcements, darkspawn would have just killed everyone.”

While from strategic, military standpoint, this would make sense, I just couldn’t see this skewed logic as being heroic and good for the country.

“He did what he had to do to save our country and we betrayed him,” she lamented.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “We? WE? He betrayed his country by abandoning his king. He murdered him. He all but decimated the only people who could slay the archdemon and end the Blight! He was a deluded fool, starting a civil war for the throne and ignoring the immediate threat! Sending assassins against the two, remaining Fereldan Wardens. Seeing Orlesians everywhere. If I didn’t know any better, he might have been senile.”

“How would you know, _my lady_ ,” she sneered, sarcastically adding the honorific. “How would you know when you were safely ensconced in your cozy castle, eating bonbons and fluttering your fan? How would you know the fear and anger and hopelessness? How would you know about facing death?”

“BECAUSE I _WAS_ THERE!”

A deafening silence echoed throughout the surrounding space. Our conversation attracted not a few of Haven’s people; everyone was eyeing us agog, gossipmongers ready to spread the juicy tidbits. Even the chantry sisters were quiet as they stared at us.

“I waited at the encampment with the few mage-healers as the war horns sounded in the valley. I was looking at the Tower of Ishal as I awaited the signal, fearing for my cousin’s life. And no one came.” I swallowed thickly. “I snuck to the bridge and watched as Teyrn Loghain, your so-called hero, led his regiment away from the battle and left the Wardens and his king to die.

“He was a dishonorable coward.”

The quartermaster was looking at me wide-eyed, completely stunned to silence.

I took a deep breath and just now noticed the audience we gathered. _Another audience_. I turned around and marched away.

And ended up in the kitchens. The kitchen staff, sensing my mood, kept away, leaving me to work out my frustrations about everything.

 _That complete bitch!_ I huffed as I threw the dough on the scrubbed, wooden surface of the table, a cloud of flour poofed into the air.

I punched a fist into the center. “Oh, Teyrn Loghain was a great leader of the army. He was right to call on a retreat before the rest of the army was slaughtered,” I mumbled in a high-pitched voice.

Folded twice, kneading aggressively, I finished that dough before I ruined it completely with more vitriol.

I was going to start on another batch when a small tug on my sleeve gained my attention.

“Are you the she-demon?” A scruffy boy with quizzical brow was standing there in roughly patched clothes. “Master Tethras told me to find a lady with dark hair, a pout on her face and a glowing hand. That’s you.”

“I do not have a pout on my face.”

He looked like he couldn’t, wouldn’t, _didn’t_ believe me. “He said you always have it when you don’t get your fix.”

I pouted. “You make me sound like an addict.”

“He also said that you rage like a demon when provoked. Is that why you’re a she-demon?” _At least someone was having fun_.

“I’ll give you a silver if you stop announcing my shortcomings.”

He thought for a moment. “He gave me two silvers.”

“I’ll raise that and throw in a cookie.”

“Deal.”


	18. The Inquisition Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saira doesn't do speeches.

The days after the attempt at the Breach and the recovery of the Herald marked the true beginnings of the Inquisition. The chantry was closed most of the first day. All were told not to enter except for the council, messengers bearing important notes, and essential personnel. Andrastian devotees were directed to an antechamber attached to the side of the chantry. The doors opened on the first bell past noon. The council made a sweep around the village and the camps outside the gates, making notes of the layout, the defenses and the supplies needed. The census made earlier was consulted and a discussion was heard about low numbers and the need to reach out to various factions and groups.

The orders and reports started pouring out the next day.

The Nightingale started sending ravens every day, in increments of about one every two bells. Answering ravens were seen two days after. The sky was fraught with the black birds; complaints of bird droppings were ignored. Sister Nightingale was seen poring over maps with Scout Lace Harding, Charter and Argent. Her scouts, led by Scout Harding left for the Crossroads the next day.

The Commander met with his officers, including Knight-Captain Rylen of Starkhaven. A call for able-bodied recruits were sent out along with messages to Therinfal Redoubt and other Templar holdouts. The defenses were reviewed and the camps outside the gates were reordered. The outer blocks one, two and three were assigned to soldiers already present at Haven while blocks three and four were assigned to the officers and expected new recruits. The refugees were accorded the tents on blocks six, seven and eight. All the blocks were arranged around a large training area in the center. Outposts around the village were built.

The Ambassador’s first order of business was to send a runner with a letter to Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick with the orders to wait for a reply in return. Lady Montilyet had tea with the remaining clerics, consulting them about the Chantry’s position. She also received some of the nobles from the Fereldan Bannorn. Letters bearing the seal of the Inquisition began to be attached to the missives sent by Sister Nightingale.

The Seeker and the Herald consulted with the quartermaster, Threnn. An argument between the Herald and Threnn was heard throughout the square. Apparently, Threnn expressed a view of the traitorous Loghain’s innocence. _Again_. The Herald disagreed. A story circled amongst the witnesses (and spread to the rest of the village) that the Herald accompanied the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight. A woman from the village of Honnleath confirmed this. The Seeker defused the argument and the discussion about needed supplies was held for at least an hour. Threnn was amenable to the added requisitions provided the Ambassador was able to release the coin needed.

There was an increased demand for paper and runners in and among some of the inhabitants of Haven. Children were recruited to send messages and a network was set-up between the apothecary, the kitchens, the requisition table and the forge overseen by Varric Tethras. A separate group was assigned to the officers, Inquisition agents and the Council.

Templars arrived unlooked for on the fifth day. Initial alarm was raised by the mages thinking that they were there to arrest them. Commander Cullen and Seeker Pentaghast were hurriedly sent for. Another reorder of the camps was established with added blocks flanking the refugee blocks. Mages were housed on one side, the templars assigned on the other.

Chancellor Roderick was avoided by most of the village. He tended to lurk by the entrance into the chantry.

A massive influx of refugees hastened the need for order and more sources of food. While the council was busy with the overall running of the Inquisition, the Herald conferred with Varric Tethras. _“You just can’t help it, can you, Fiery?”_ was heard by a nosy runner. They conducted another inspection around the village ending with a “ _Let’s harass Solas_ ” and with them knocking loudly on the mage’s door.

After that, requisition forms piled high on the requisition table. Requests ranged from more tents able to bear runes, fishing poles and frost-resistant latrines to large swathes of cloth, paper and wax. The apothecary was expanded to add the cabin adjacent to it. Existing fishing poles made by Haven’s villagers were borrowed by some of the refugees and they proceeded to make holes in the frozen lake. Fishing became one of the main sources of food. Varric and a hunter named Hall led some men to hunt for available game. Recruit Jim was banned from accompanying a hunting party ever again after he was chased by druffalo. The kitchens asked for added room, for dried meat and other kitchen sundries. One cell in the dungeons was converted into a pantry since it being partially underground made for colder storage.

The Herald, meanwhile, took some people to gather for elfroot which was abundant around the area. Iron ore was discovered a league away from the village and able-bodied people from Harritt’s forge made the daily journey to mine them. Nugs were also seen in and about outside the village and rounded up by some people for roasting. The Nightingale was not pleased.

On the ninth day, a small caravan of soldiers left Haven for the Hinterlands. The Commander increased the number of patrols after a rogue band attacked the logging quarry at the edge of the village. The unit that responded to the calls for help by the loggers came upon a scene of exploded splinters of wood and what looked like frozen sculptures in various poses, in the middle of which were the elf-mage Solas and the Herald who were calmly discussing the differences of staves made from different kinds of wood.

About two and a half weeks since the explosion, the sun shined clear and bright. A heavy flurry of snow fell the night before but the first shoots of crocuses were poking out of the ground. Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana were talking with the Herald a few ways in front of the Chantry. Lady Montilyet directed some men to hang rolled-up pieces of fabric on the walls of the chantry and some of the buildings in the village. Commander Cullen nailed a large piece of parchment on the chantry door. Curious onlookers saw a directive with the all-seeing eye embossed in gold.

The bells tolled at half-mark past the third bell and the inhabitants of Haven gathered around the front of the chantry. At a signal from the Seeker, the rolled-up fabrics were unfurled simultaneously. The Herald stumbled forward, pushed on the back by the Nightingale.

On the –th day of Guardian, the Inquisition was officially reborn.


	19. The Wheels Start to Turn

Formally establishing the Inquisition passed without much fanfare. The directives had gone up around the village, the heraldry was unveiled, potential allies and the major powers were notified, and the Herald of Andraste made a speech.

“You didn’t have to push me, Leliana,” I admonished the redhead as we walked to what I now dubbed as the War Room.

“I had to. The people were expecting you, the Herald of Andraste, to make a speech.”

“That title is getting old. And I am not the leader of this organization. You or Cassandra could’ve made a speech.”

“Oh hush. You did all right,” Leliana chuckled.

“Easy for you to say,” I said ruefully as I closed the door behind us.

The last time I was here I was not able to look around much what with a snarling chancellor all up in my face accusing me as the next coming of the Witch of the Wilds. _I wonder if Morrigan would be insulted._

I turned around and surveyed the room.

The War Room was one of those individual prayer rooms wherein one could send their prayers to the Maker and his Bride in peace and quiet. There were no windows but there were two small grates on the back wall near the floor. Deep-seated niches were carved into the gray, stone blocks where people could have placed their belongings and even, in some chantries, spend the night.

But unlike the prayer rooms, this room was now decorated for a long war campaign. The niches were filled with books and scrolls of parchment, writing instruments, a few bottles of wine and brass goblets and what looked to be like a small statue of Andraste. Carpets were rolled up in a corner and the chairs were grouped around on one end. The room was dominated by a large piece of aged greatwood.

The war table was cleared of all messes aside from a few candles and a large map of Thedas which almost covered the entirety of the cable. Tokens and markers were spread out over the map indicating the placement of agents and Inquisition activity in key areas. The council were gathered around the table: Cullen and Josephine was on the other side of the table, Cassandra on their opposite side while Leliana positioned herself to the left of the ambassador.

I approached the table and stood to Cassandra’s right.

“Good. You’re here,” said Cassandra. “Now, that the wheels of the Inquisition are turning. We can now concentrate on closing the Breach. Before all else, I want you to meet Commander Cullen Rutherford. Leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“So _you’re_ the commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” I looked up at Cullen and smiled shyly. “We’ve met, well, formally, back in Kirkwall in one of Ostwick Circle’s visits. I can’t believe you’re back in Ferelden and _the_ commander of the Inquisition.”

“Such as they are,” Cullen smiled back. “We seem to always find ourselves in the thick of things.”

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. “Varric said the same thing.”

Cassandra frowned at the mention of the dwarf’s name but continued. “And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

I snorted. “Who doesn’t?”

Leliana smiled. “My position here involves a degree of…”

“She is our spymaster.”

“Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all again… under the circumstances,” I frowned. “But why am I here?”

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra started to explain.

But Leliana interrupted, “Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.”

“And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark –“

“– Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so –“

“Pure speculation,” put in Leliana.

“ _I_ was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

It was like watching a game of battledore -  an extremely well-played battledore with two players on each side if the repartees were anything to get by. Both sides had merit if we were going to run on their theories. The only problem was, before they could manage to get either side, they needed to stop an ongoing war; a war which only escalated since the explosion. _Then_ they could talk to a side.

But approaching only one side would not help. Taking sides was one of the problems in the first place.

“Why don’t we approach both groups. You know, since that was the purpose of the Conclave: bringing the two groups together and working towards a modicum of peace.”

They were staring at me now. I looked around at their faces, my own turning red in embarrassment. Cullen gave me a nod. _Go on_.

I huffed. “The most important thing to consider now is the Breach and the one behind it. If that person is capable of rending a hole in the sky then they are the bigger danger. The templars and the mages… They deserve a chance. Both of them.”

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically,” Josephine pointedout.

I rubbed my temples. “That was quick. They still think I’m guilty.”

“That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you – a mage – the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Chancellor Roderick’s doing no doubt.”

“It limits our options,” Josephine said as she wrote something on a parchment. “Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“And there’s that ‘Herald of Andraste’ again? Who came up with this?”

“People saw what you did at the Temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste,” Cassandra said as she pulled out a parchment piece out of the mess on the table, quickly read it and raised an eyebrow at Leliana.

Leliana shook her head. “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading –“

I crossed my arms.  “Which you have not.”

“The point is everyone is talking about you.”

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” the commander said with some amusement. “How do you feel about that?”

“I think it’s all a bunch of bullshit.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Be that as it may, the chantry has decided that for you.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign,” said Leliana.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” added Josephine.

“They aren’t more concerned about the Breach? The real threat?”

Cullen took the parchment Cassandra had perused.  “They do know it’s a threat. They just don’t think _we_ can stop it.”

“The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse,” said Josephine.

“Great.  Just great,”  I puffed  out  a breath.  “What do _we_ intend to do now?”  _No way am I going to let them sit me out of this one_.  _Oh no, I’m  not  going  to twiddle my thumbs in  a relegated  corner._

Leliana placed  a marker  on the  map,  on a point not far  from  Haven. “There is something you can do. A chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“I’ve heard of Mother Giselle. For all her work in aiding relief efforts in the war, she’s still with the Chantry. Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?”

“I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters. You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“Perhaps  you could look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you are there.”

I  looked  at Cullen with narrowed eyes. “Alright…  Aside from closing the Breach and  the rifts  popping up here and there,  _why am I here_?  What exactly do you see me doing?”

Cassandra exchanged a look with Leliana. “By now the news would have going far and wide, about you, the people calling you ‘Herald of Andraste’ and how you are the only one to save them.”

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them,” Josephine put in.

“That has two sides to it; a figurehead and a scapegoat,” I sighed. “I said I would help and I would. Who’s coming with me?”

“I will go with you,” said Cassandra. “Solas would be needed to monitor the mark. Some agents are coming with us to relieve the ones at the Crossroads.”

“And Varric.”

Cassandra scowled. “The dwarf is hardly needed.”

“Well, I want him.”

Cassandra just made a disgusted noise. “Fine. In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”


	20. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A feathery alarm clock.

Mornings and I were not exactly the best of friends. Considering that I often read until the dregs of the night, sleeping in until the third or fourth bell was always my habit. Early starts were especially a source of grumpiness and frowns. Traipsing all over Ferelden when I traveled with Aedan forced me to adjust my body clock. Walking all day, only stopping for short breaks, helped condition my body softened by being a scholar at the Circle. Bandits and darkspawn interrupted the monotonous exercise and I got to practice spells I was having difficulty with. After walking all day, turning in early in the evening was a blessing, only to repeat the cycle the next day and the next day and the next – starting just after we had breakfast at the crack of dawn. But woe betide anyone who woke me up to have me get ready: they were met with either a slap to the face or a kick to the knee.

Leliana probably warned Cassandra about that since she tended to call out from the outside of the tent, softly but firmly. At first I would ignore it; Maker knew that woman woke up at the crack of dawn for her routine morning drills. Until repeatedly calling me _Herald_ irritated me enough to call back _I’m awake! Princess Pentaghast!_ She made the same disgusted noise as she always did whenever Varric opens his mouth.

That morning, however, was different. My head felt heavy, not uncomfortably so, but still carried some weight. I sleepily inched a hand to my head until I felt soft, feathery flesh. I was certain that my hair would not be as soft as it would be given that it was the second day out of Haven. I squeezed that soft, feathery flesh; and it let out a loud, indignant squawk.

There was a huge, black bird sitting on my head. Since I wasn’t particularly fond of birds, and it was too early for me doing the flap-flap-shoo-shoo technique, I pretended I had on Lady Depardieu’s famous, flamboyant hat. I let out a loud yawn and stretched up as I headed towards the campfire. I was reaching for the kettle warming over the fire when I remembered that I forgot to bring the most essential thing while travelling: my stash of chocolate. I patted my pockets to double check but it appeared that I really did not bring it.

Praying to the heavens for much needed, infinite patience, I shuffled to the supply cart. Trying not to draw attention from the scouts and soldiers who were criminally perky at this hour in the morning. Or as little attention as I could with a huge, black bird on my head. Our camp was small with two or three pitched tents and a wide, leather roll stretched from one end of the cart to some trees. It was a temporary arrangement what with everyone looking forward to the sturdier and warmer tents of the Inquisition at the Crossroads.

The distance from Haven to the Crossroads was as far as a crow flies in one day. Its worth about a week of walking with the supplies in the cart being driven by an innocent-looking merchant dwarf ( _but was really a demon of a cart driver_ ) and his son. Less that length of time if your party was on a deadline to get holy dust to save a dying man. Even lesser than that when you were being chased by darkspawn.  Three days when you were with the Inquisition.

And here I was on the road again.

Crawling inside the darkened cart, I tried to root out Varric’s supply of coffee. The dwarf may swore that he woke and sleep with a mug of ale, I knew in that one camping trip to the Wounded Coast that he always, discreetly, hid a tin of expensive, Antivan coffee somewhere where things were thrown haphazardly.

When I accidentally discovered that tin, he snatched it from me so fast I wondered if I was hallucinated the smell of dark, rich grains. I asked him why he would put it in the feathery, chicken mage’s potion supplies, Varric scoffed that he was keeping it safe from Garrett and his “sniveling, sniffing, hound”. I told him that I would keep his secret hiding place a secret if I could partake of that ambrosia.

I was, _still am_ , not a morning person and I had forgotten my own bittersweet brew then, too.

I shoved aside rolled fabrics which I assumed were materials for tents, some extra rolls of bedroll, pieces of metal braziers to be assembled at the main camps and wooden crates of winter vegetables. _Where did that dwarf stash it this time?_ It was not until I got a whiff of dried embrium that I smiled knowingly and dove into the box containing a little bit of smoking contraband. _Really, Varric, you and your vices._

In the weak morning light streaming from the gap in the canvas, I examined my loot. The round tin was made of copper covered in dents from being knocked-about in cramped spaces; from being thrown about by Garrett when he played a joke on Varric which resulted in them not talking for three days; and from being used as an ammunition by an errant girl keen to get away from brigands. The dwarf would not talk to me for _a week_ after that. At least, not until I returned it to him after hunting for it in the dark corners of Lowtown. I now owed Zevran a favor after he personally delivered a sack of the gold-weight variety of Antivan beans.

I squealed in triumph as my hand connected with rounded piece of cold metal. Retrieving it from the dark recess, I hurriedly scuttled back and jumped backwards from the cart.

“That is not something I have seen before.”

I jumped in surprise and looked around. Cassandra had a perplexed expression in her face from where she was standing by the map table; Varric was loudly laughing by the campfire; and the scouts were looking at me like they did not know what to make of me.

The Herald of Andraste doing a chicken dance while chanting a phrase over and over again. _Fucking great._ It did not help that the bird was still on top of my head.

“Not even in all my travels in the Fade.”

With a resigned sigh, I turned towards the owner of the voice, “Have you ever had that  feeling that you found something so precious as to give you reason to wake up every morning? A feeling that is expanding from yourself that you just have to… dance?” I ended uncertainly.

Solas raised an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth tilted up. “There was one time I finally found the equation to render the necessary magical quotient to stabilize an object I was making. I celebrated by taking a spirit of wisdom down a hallway in an invigorating dance.”

The problem with Solas was that I could not discern whether or not he was joking or not. Even though he kept that small amused tilt to his lips, the rest of his face was inscrutable. I squinted my eyes and pursed my mouth, taking a closer look at his expression. No change in expression. I tried imagining a stoic, serious Solas suddenly animated and doing the vigorous steps of a Rivaini Altese (what passed for a waltz if you did not mind slithering all over your partner's body).

I huffed a laugh. _I can’t imagine Solas doing that_. _Then again, stranger things have happened_.

“I would’ve paid a sum to see that.”

“I hope you have not forgotten our lesson this morning.”

“But it’s too early. Can I at least have coffee first?”

“Why would you drink that foul thing?”

“I forgot my chocolate and it’s better than tea.”

“Do not let Daisy here you say that, Fiery,” piped Varric from his place from the campfire.

“Anything is better than tea.”

I smiled. “You obviously haven’t tried a decanted Lothering ale.”

“I do not believe I have had the privilege.”

“No matter what you do,” cut in Varric as he came to stand by us at the cart. “If you ever meet Hawke, do not take anything he dubs food or drink he offers you. You’ll sooner find yourself drinking an extra strength antidote than exalting in his culinary prowess.”

Solas looked back uncertainly at me. I shrugged and said, “I was in bed for two days.”


End file.
